Pieces of What
by rabbitfood
Summary: TRORY Work is not what Rory had imagined it would be. Her rekindled friendship with Tristan is complicated. Set three years after the series ended, where will Rory end up when she realizes that her career and her life aren't something handed to her on a silver, Hartford platter?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls, or any of the characters created by the show.**

**Chapter One: Old Fashioned**

Somewhere along the way, things had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Rory couldn't put her finger on the exact turning point. Maybe it was accepting the job on the campaign trail. Stupid. Obviously reporting on a _campaign trail_ wasn't a steady gig. It also wasn't exactly riveting stuff...an article about kissing babies here, an article about mudslinging there. Not exactly Pulitzer Prize winning stuff.

But babies and mudslinging was better than this. Rory stared down at her phone. How could she convey the gravity of the breaking report on the market crash in 140 characters or less? An absurd concept for an increasingly absurd world of journalism. Why was she born in the century that was going out of print when her whole sense of person was formed from ink on paper?

She sighed. So maybe it wasn't just the new job reporting through the ridiculous new media known as Twitter. Maybe it was Logan. Maybe it was how easily she had severed her relationship with him. At the end there, it had seemed like life after college was one adventure waiting to happen. Like there would be so many more handsome, loving men just dying to marry her. And those men would wait, for an indeterminable amount of time, until she was a renowned international correspondent. Then she would have time to settle.

Here she was, though. Twenty-five, always looking for employment that would last through the year, or even just long enough to pay her rent. Every reputable paper in the world was laying off talented writers as their print circulation plummeted. No hard feelings, she had heard a dozen times. We just can't maintain the payroll we had a decade ago, not with the internet taking over.

"Not sure how to say this, so I'm going to rip it off like a bandaid."

Rory looked up from her iPhone and saw her mother sliding into the barstool next to her. She settled herself awkwardly, her pregnant belly somewhat concealed under the layers of her floor-length gown.

"Logan is here with his wife."

"I saw him."

"Did you talk to him?"

"No. I ducked behind a topiary and then when the coast was clear I took shelter here." Rory gestured to the small bar in the empty dining room. They were the only two patrons. Murmuring voices from the ballroom wafted into the silent restaurant.

"You know your grandparents didn't invite him."

"It's grandpa's retirement party."

"And it was an open invitation to members of their club and their guests."

"So it was an invite."

"But not a pointed one," Lorelai said, placing her hand on her daughter's arm. "You know I don't side with them, like, ever. But your grandmother already approached me to apologize."

Rory sighed. "It's fine."

"What is that, coffee?" Lorelai asked, pointing to the mug in front of Rory. "Please tell me it is spiked."

"I haven't finished working yet," Rory said.

"Are you really my kid?" Lorelai asked. "Sometimes I wonder if I took the wrong baby home from the hospital. Because God knows if I were you right now, hiding in this empty restaurant from your ex-fiance and his wife, I would be on my fourth bourbon. Scratch that. Sixth. And if I thought that bringing a two-headed baby into the world sounded at all responsible, I would be ordering myself one too."

"He was never my fiance."

"He wanted to be."

"Why are you digging?"

"I just want to know that you are ok, kid. A lot has been happening the past couple of years."

"Well I'm fine."

"You have been working on that twit for two hours."

"Tweet, Mom."

"Well at least I didn't slip up again and call it a tw-"

"MOM!"

"Just saying."

"I'm over Logan."

"I know, sweetie. It's just that no one likes seeing their ex flaunting their new life in their face."

"He's not flaunting. He simply came to a function at the club with his wife."

"But don't you wonder why he showed up?"

"You're digging at it again."

"Hormones."

Rory sighed. "Go back to Luke, Mom. I'm going to just finish this tweet and my coffee. I'll be back in before the toasts begin."

Lorelai started to speak, thought better of it, and stood up. "Just get there before the cake. I'm going to need you to give me your piece."

"What about Luke's?"

"It's your sister in my womb. She is a Gilmore. Do you think she stops at two pieces?"

"If she has any Dane blood in her at all, then yes."

"She is a Gilmore," Lorelai insisted. She scooted clumsily off her seat and kissed Rory's forehead. "Gilmore's get what they want out of life."

"You've been drinking the Kool-Aid."

"Hormones."

Rory watched as Lorelai walked away. She had changed since marrying Luke. In good ways and bad. She was a mother again, to a brother Rory loved but struggled to relate to. Granted he was only two, but her home was now a war-zone of GI Joes and little green army men. Somehow, Rory seemed to see him more as Luke's son than her mother's. And now the new baby...Rory wondered how she would ever have a genuine relationship with either of her siblings.

That was a problem for another day, she thought. She looked down at her screen.

_Stock market plummets for fifth consecutive day as panic increases on Wall Street. Financiers and investors alike are demanding solutions to their growing monetary woes._

170 characters. She had to cut out 30. Maybe if she cut out "on Wall Street..."

* * *

So she was here. If he was being completely honest with himself, she was the only reason he had come to this thing. Not to help his aging grandfather pay respects to an old friend. Not for the open bar on a quiet winter night in the dullest city imaginable. For her.

It had been a gamble, he could admit that now. Over the years he had attended a dozen similar events with the same ulterior motive. But tonight, standing in the doorway of the empty restaurant, tonight was that moment he had always wondered about.

In a rare moment of insight, Tristan paused to take in the scene in front of him. She had changed. Eight or nine years does that to a person, he supposed. The soft curves of her face had gone away, her girlish looks replaced by an exotic beauty. Her hair was darker, her cheek bones more prominent. But he was willing to bet that if-when-he got closer, he would still see those electric eyes flash against her pale skin.

What hadn't changed was her demeanor. Here she was, in a club full of the people who had been his world, and she was all alone, reading something on her phone. Tolstoy, he guessed. New technology, same basic method of escapism. She was the same.

This notion moved him across the room until he was standing at the bar in that small space between Rory and the stool next to her. She didn't look up. Tristan wasn't surprised.

"What will it be, sir?" the bartender asked.

"An Old Fashioned."

"Brandy?"

"Bourbon."

Rory's head cocked slightly in Tristan's direction, but she did not look at him. Something about his alcohol choice had interested her. Tristan smirked.

"Is this seat taken?"

"No," she said glancing up and turning quickly back to her phone. She paused for a second, then turned slowly back towards him.

"Thank you," Tristan said. He was waiting. She had to be the one to recognize him.

"Yeah," she trailed, eyeing him. He simply smiled a polite smile back at her and took a sip of the drink the bartender pushed in front of him. After a moment she seemed to catch herself staring. "You know there's free ones in the ballroom."

"There's also hobnobbing happening in line for said free cocktails."

"Roger," she said shifting in her seat.

"Now I know you recognize me and are struggling to place me, but we both know that I don't look like a Roger."

The faintest blush made its way across Rory's cheekbones. Her lovely, new cheekbones. The sight made up for the fact that she hadn't exhibited a display of instant recognition.

"And how should a Roger look, may I ask?"

"Balding, mostly from a receding hairline. Also he would wear one of those short-sleeved

button down shirts. Maybe a clip-on tie."

"Well no wonder I was confused, because that is the perfect definition of a Stan."

"Stanford or Stanley?"

"Both, I would presume."

"Let me buy you a drink," he fired back without hesitating.

This quick offer once again seemed to catch Rory off-guard.

"I have one already. But thank you."

"That's coffee.'

"Yes."

"Coffee is not a drink."

"Well, I was raised to treat it as a food group. But milk made it on to the food pyramid and that is most certainly a beverage. So by that logic, coffee is a drink."

"Not an alcoholic one."

"You didn't specify the parameters of your offer."

"Lorelai Gilmore, may I buy you an alcoholic beverage?"

Rory squinted again. "How do you…?"

Tristan smiled at her, but it was an appraising smile. Something cracked open inside and he felt like a teenager again. A feeling he equated with feeling like an idiot. She really didn't know him.

"Get this lady a vodka soda. Top shelf, please, whatever you have."

"Yes, sir."

"No, no...no vodka. I'll take an Old Fashioned as well."

The self-doubt snapped closed and he smirked. "Bourbon?"

"Vodka sodas are for bimbos."

"Is that a personal creed or a slogan you read somewhere?"

"It's a conclusion drawn from several years of informal observations. Thank you, Pete."

"I'm not Pete, either."

"Pete is the bar tender."

"First name basis?"  
"I've been here a while."

"Hiding?"

"Working." She took a sip of her Old Fashioned and didn't even wince as the burn of the liquor hit her throat.

Tristan was impressed. "Working on what?"

"A tweet."

"That must be some tweet."

She sighed. "I'm working for the Boston Herald tweeting out links to their news articles."

"Impressive."

"Thanks. It's riveting stuff." The dry tone was impossible to ignore.

"Then why do you do it?"

"It's a job in my field. A dying field. If I want to pay the bills with a job that is relevant to my resume, I can't really complain about it."

"Or you could just marry some guy who pay your bills for you." His phrasing had been

**unintentional, the whole sentence harmless. But from the spark in her eye and the way she leaned back in her chair, Tristan knew that she remembered. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I don't own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters featured in it.**

Chapter Two: Memory Lane

"Mary…" she said. "You…"

"Well, that's not my name, either. And I'm a little insulted that you-"

"Tristan," she said, a smile spreading across her lips. "God, you know what...at first I thought it was you. But your hair, and your...you...I started second guessing myself thinking you were from college…Stand up, give me a hug."

She was already out of her seat, pulling at the sleeve of his jacket. He obliged. He was tall. Taller than she remembered. And his hair was tamed by product. He had a beard, albeit a neatly trimmed one. It was just enough scruff to make him look a smidge more sophisticated than his twenty-five years. She couldn't help but notice how strong he felt under his suit jacket. Nope. There was no missing that.

"I'm offended that you think I look like a Yale man."

Rory returned to her seat, taking care to spread out the deep green fabric of her floor-length dress so it wouldn't wrinkle.

"I guess the scruff should have been a give away. I'm not sure that Yale men can even grow beards."

"Harsh," he replied, running a hand over his beard.

"Just an observation."

"So bimbos drink Vodka Sodas and Yale men have faces like a baby's ass. Duly noted."

There was a pause here, which Rory filled by taking a sip of her drink. What was there to say to this guy? She had never had much to say to him even back when they were classmates. Their conversations consisted mostly of her demanding that he moved his makeout session away from her locker.

"You look like you are taking a stroll down memory lane," he said, sipping his own drink. It was nearly empty and the ice cubes clinked together pleasantly as he set his glass back down on the bar.

"Oh, you know. Just thinking about how you were the cause of an awful lot of back pain."

Tristan's brow wrinkled. "Back pain?"

"I had to carry all my text books in my backpack since you used your locker as your personal hook-up spot."

Tristan chuckled. "I plead the fifth."

"Mm, it's true though."

"I hardly feel bad for you. If I remember correctly, you always had at least three recreational reading books in your backpack on top of those textbooks."

"It's a miracle I don't have scoliosis. I could have sued."

"And put the money towards one of those rolly backpacks?"

"Hey, I was cooler than that."

Tristan snorted.

"Hey!"

"Another Old Fashioned?" the bartender interjected. Tristan glanced at Rory's glass. It was half full.

"Better make that two."

"Yes, sir."

"Tristan, I don't-"

Tristan finished his own drink in one fluid movement. He put down his glass and gave Rory an odd look. "You want it."

Rory felt a shiver. Well, maybe it was less a shiver and more a pull deep inside her. She knew that feeling. But she had never known that feeling with Tristan.

"Thank you," she said simply as Pete passed her the glass. The bourbon was cool. She pushed away thoughts about the tweet she had yet to post. A few more sips wouldn't bring down her already sinking career.

"It was all for you, you know."

Rory looked up at Tristan. He was looking at her intensely. No smirk, no smoulder. Was it a simple statement, or a confession?

* * *

"What was?"

Her voice was so soft it was almost Tristan's undoing. He hadn't meant for the conversation to turn this way. He was simply intending to joke about his caddish ways. But, God she was beautiful. He had never met anyone else who pierced him with just a look. He took in the way the dim lights of the bar reflected in her eyes. He thought of the way she had blushed a few minutes before. He wanted to make her blush again. But the air was heavy between them, and Tristan needed a breather before he did something regrettable.

"Oh you know, the girls in front of your locker. I did it all to get your attention."

"Uh huh."

It was playful. They were back on waters that he could navigate. "Every one of them."

"You are telling me that you made out with three quarters of the female student body just so that I would notice you?"

"Something like that."

"Even with Beth Walker."

"Even with her."

"Even with Sarah Stone?"

"Sarah Stoneham. Even with."

"Even when you had your hand up Summer's skirt?"

Tristan paused, a smile tugging at his lips. He had forgotten about that one. That had been a pretty enjoyable passing period.

Rory smacked his arm lightly. "You foul boy. "

"Thank you."

"For calling you foul?"

"For reminding me of some afternoons which I should never have forgotten in the first place."

"Ah."

"It could have been you, you know."

Rory took a sip of her drink. "We tried that, remember?" she asked, twirling the little cocktail straw in her beverage.

"I do remember. You cried."

"You had to ask me if you bit my lip."

The image of Rory in his arms, her lower lip between his teeth flashed through his mind. He shook his head to clear it.

She laughed lightly. "I know, awkward teenage kisses."

Tristan didn't correct her. It was his turn to take a sip of his drink as a stall tactic.

"So you're hiding in here from…"

"Remember that tweet I was working on?"

"Oh right. You're a social media correspondent."

"If that's the polite way of saying a basically unemployed journalism major, then yes."

"It's not your fault your field is dying faster than the polar bears."

"I wake up every day and do the same thing 16 year old girls all over the planet are doing."

"So you tweet about Zac Efron?"

"Mostly Justin Bieber."

"Let me read one."

"I guess I do need help. I've been staring at it for hours."

"Hardly breaking news now."

She passed the phone to him and he read: _Stock market plummets for fifth consecutive day as panic increases on Wall Street. Financiers and investors alike are demanding solutions to their growing monetary woes._

"I wouldn't click on that," he said, handing the phone back to Rory.

"Hey!"

"It's boring. I don't go on Twitter to read Wall Street Journal headlines. I read the Wall Street Journal for that."

"So why do you go on Twitter?"

"I don't know, to look for wit or read mindless blurbs."

Rory thought about that for a moment. "So you are saying stop trying to be something I'm not?" It wasn't defensive.

"No," he said. "I'm saying, stop trying to make Twitter into something it's not. You have wit. Turn it into your weapon. I guarantee you, a one-liner of yours will drive more attention to the article than any intelligent sounding headline."

Rory picked up her phone and deleted the characters in the box. She typed something in and passed the phone back to Tristan.

_Wall Street crashing harder than Lindsay Lohan._

Tristan clicked a button and posted it.

* * *

Lorelai watched Rory enter the ballroom, a blonde man by her side. She had been watching the door for the past half hour since she had sat back down at her table. For the past ten minutes she had been wondering what was taking Rory so long. Now she understood, loud and clear.

"Luke," Lorelai hissed, keeping her voice low so her mother didn't hear.

"What?" he asked idly.

"Who is that guy Rory is with?"

Luke squinted across the room. "Ah, Christ."

"What!"

"That'd better not be Logan."

"Are you wearing your contacts?"

"No."

"Luke, Dr. Borgman told you that you need to break them in."

"And I told Dr. Borgman to go to hell. I don't need them."

"Well you do if you are trying to prevent your wife from going into premature labor over here. Of course that isn't Logan."

Luke muttered something, but Lorelai wasn't really listening. The music was playing and she couldn't make out what Rory was saying to the boy, even though they weren't far away. After a moment of talk, he took her hand and led her on to the dance floor. Lorelai sat back into her chair. There was something so warm about the moment. Her oldest daughter was dancing with a handsome boy, and looking quite content with the situation. Her new baby was kicking inside of her. Her handsome husband was sitting by her side, one hand draped around the back of her chair. The room was warm and the clinking china was inviting. The evening was so-

"Ah!" Lorelai yelped.

"What is it, are you ok?" Luke asked, scanning her pregnant belly.

"No!"

"What's wrong? The baby?"

"I was starting to sound like my mother in my head."

"Jesus Christ," Luke swore.

"You should have heard it. One minute I was thinking about how I would murder the cater waiter if he didn't show up with another piece of cake, and the next I was basking in the glow of the evening…"

* * *

"Rory."

"Mm?"

The music was slow and Tristan felt good in her arms. He smelled good too. She was glad she had worn the green dress. She knew they looked good together. She knew people were watching. And for once she didn't mind.

"Let's get dinner tomorrow night. Before you go back to Boston."

**Rory smiled, thinking of all the times she had turned him down in the past. "I would like that."**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any characters associated with the show.

Chapter 3: Fresh Starts

**_Fired._**

The word echoed through Rory's mind like a ping pong. Scratch that. More like a ball in a squash court. What were those called, anyway? Was the ball the squash? Did it start with one unlucky gourd catapulting around a room? Do squash splatter under extreme duress?

_Fired._ F.I.R.E.D.

Rory rolled over on her bed. Her childhood, twin size bed. She opened her eyes and looked around her room. It was like a shrine. Somehow it seemed comical that everything in her childhood home had changed, but this room was the same. Upstairs in the addition in the new space that had once been a window with a view to the oak tree was her unborn sister's unpainted nursery. The hall floor was home to her baby brother's squirt guns, even though it was mid-March. The upstairs closet housed her step father's fishing tackle. And somewhere behind that, way in the back, was the old monkey lamp that didn't really belong anywhere any more.

Here in Rory's room, though, nothing had really changed. Some things had disappeared. Photos of Dean, Jess, and Logan had each come and gone in their own time. Those were all packed away somewhere in their respective break-up boxes. The walls were still home to the maps, catalogs, and posters Rory had collected over the years. Who had she been then? And how did all of this stuff play in to who she was now?

So the Lindsay Lohan tweet maybe wasn't in the best taste. She had admitted that much to her boss on the phone today. Was it really worth firing her over? Eh, it wasn't just the tweet, her boss had admitted. They were handing over her job responsibilities to an unpaid intern anyway.

Her mom had told her that in that case, she wasn't really fired. However, lying here, on this bed, she felt fired. She felt more lost than she did after the whole boat stealing, semester skipping phase of her life. At least then she had been running away from responsibilities. Now she wasn't in control. She missed having control.

Tristan. If she was feeling especially vindictive, she could blame the whole thing on him. After all, he had not only given her the idea to write a tweet like that, he had also been the one to post it. But if she was being terribly honest with herself today then she had to admit that she liked what he had said to her. _Turn wit into your weapon. _How very Jane Austen. How very her.

Well, if she had any job prospects, that is.

"Did you decide yet?" Lorelai yelled from the other side of the door. Rory sighed and got up. She opened the door to see her mother standing on the other side, empty handed.

"Hey, I thought you were going to grab some choices from your closet!"

"Uh yeah, I was. Until I realized that everything that wasn't a maternity shirt had been spit up on at some point. And no matter what you say, you can't wear a spit up shirt on a date."

"Well I can't wear anything from this closet on a date either. Don't you have any dresses?"

"Yeah. In my other closet."

"And where would that be?"

"The attic."

Rory grumbled something and went back to her closet for the hundredth time. Everything in there were reject clothes. Things that had been left behind over various moves. Most things hadn't even seen the light of day since high school.

She pulled out a large sweater. "Ugh. I can't believe I wore this."

"Wear it tonight."

"Pregnancy really is making you crazy."

"What? You used to wear that all the time when you were a teenager. You looked so sweet."

"Exactly how I want to look on a date."

"He liked you back in the days of that sweater."

Rory snorted but didn't respond.

"Well what do you normally wear on a date?"

"You have got to be kidding me. You know I don't go on dates, like, ever. People my age don't really even date."

"So your last date was with Logan?"

"That implies that we ever went out on a formal date."

"Jess?"

"Do you remember him? The less socially adept version of Luke?"

"Dean?"

"Probably."

"Oh man. We need a really stellar outfit here."

They stood shoulder to shoulder at her closet for another minute. "I can't believe I'm moving back in here," Rory said at last.

Lorelai draped an arm around her daughter's shoulder. "It's not forever."

"I know."

"Because if you start getting too comfortable I will make sure to change the parental control lock on the TV so that you are subjected to all of Matthew's shows. I'll play Mickey Mouse Club House on repeat for days until your ears bleed and you run out of the house screaming."

"Thank you."

"Wear the black skirt in the back of your closet with the tank top you had on yesterday."

* * *

"And that's about when I realized my only choice was moving back in with my mother." Rory shoved another french fry in her mouth. She avoided eye contact with Tristan. Filling him in on the whole firing fiasco had felt natural. But now that she had finished her story and explained that now that she was unemployed she was also as good as homeless, she suddenly felt the shame of her situation creep back in.

"What about Paris?"

"What about her?"

"Have her get you a job."

"Uh, yeah. Because sawing into children's bones is exactly what I'm qualified to do."

Tristan threw a curly fry back into his food basket. "What?"

"Paris is finishing up medical school. She's specializing in pediatric orthopedics."

"She goes around snapping little kid's bones? That's rather ruthless."

"That's Paris."

"I thought she edited the Yale Daily News. I saw a copy on a friend's coffee table when we were still in school."

"She did. That was just a hobby."

"Again, how very Paris."

"Quite." Rory sipped at her beer and settled back into the cushions of the booth. The date wasn't going exactly like she had anticipated. Not that she wasn't pleased. First of all, Tristan hadn't dragged her to some swanky place with valet parking and white linen. They were in a bar. A nice one, no doubt. But a bar none the less. Her burger was perfect, there was great live music. But they were doing an awful lot of shouting over the band to hear each other. Frankly, she was a little surprised that this was his style of wining and dining.

"So I have bored you with my career woes. Why don't you fill in the gaps between when you were shipped off to jouvie and now."

"Jouvie? It was military school."

"Potato pohtatoh."

Tristan settled back into his own booth, beer in hand. "Well, military school scared the crap out of me."

"A compound full of men without a single female in sight was surely your worst nightmare."

He let out a short and bitter laugh. "It was. I was such a little bitch about it too. I'm surprised the officers didn't just throw me out into the woods and try my best Survivor Man impersonation."

"That good, huh?"

Tristan sighed. "That good. But it did the trick. I'm cured."

Something in the sigh led Rory to believe that there was a lot more to Tristan's story. She didn't pry, though. He had the right to his secrets. This was, after all, supposed to be a casual first date.

"So then where did you go?"

"After military school I moved to LA to go to USC."

"Not Columbia?"

"No, Miss Yale. Not Columbia. Just lowly USC."

Rory blushed a little. "Berkley is a great school. I didn't mean-"

Tristan smiled. "Everything with you was always about the Forbes College Ranking. I get that. I'm flattered you thought Columbia would even want me."

"You are a legacy."

"I didn't want to be a legacy. After military school I needed a new scene."

Rory thought briefly of rooming with Paris freshman year, then of dating Logan. How would things have turned out if she had stayed away from the Hartford scene at Yale? Or if she had left Connecticut like she had always intended?

"So, after college, when I had realized that all that sun was giving me road rage, I moved to New York."

"A city notorious for its lack of traffic."

"Precisely."

"And in New York you are a…"

"Suit."

"3-piece or 5?"

"I sit in my cubicle, punching numbers into the database all day."

"Insurance?"

"Finance."

"Ouch."

"Riveting stuff, I know."

"You don't really sit in a cubicle do you?"

"Well, not exactly. But it's not a corner office on the 85th floor either. And it's not in my father's company."

"So whose is it?" she said, knowing full well how rude she was potentially being.

"My Godfather's."

"Let me guess...he made you an offer you couldn't refuse?"

"That was too easy."

"You set me up for it. I couldn't leave that one dangling."

Tristan popped a few more curly fries into his mouth, chewed, washed it down with some beer and then turned to Rory with a funny look. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Well, I was thinking about dessert…"

"About your job."

"Oh." She swirled a fry in her ranch. "I don't really know. I haven't gotten that far yet."

"Do you like the digital journalism stuff?"

Rory thought about it for a moment. "If I want to be part of the field, which I do, I have to like it." She ate the fry. "And you know what, I liked the idea of the path you were sending me down last night. I guess the Globe just wasn't as trashy as I thought it was."

Tristan thought that over for a minute. He summoned the waitress over and asked for the bill.

"Thanks for dinner," Rory said when he waved away her credit card.

"My pleasure."

He pulled out his phone and began scrolling through it idly. Rory felt uncomfortable. She thought about pulling hers out just to look equally as engaged. Wasn't there a no cell phone rule on dates? What a jerk.

"Would you mind if I gave someone your number?"

Well that wasn't what she had thought he was doing. "Depends on who. I have a blanket no communication with the Jersey Shore Cast rule."

"You think I have their numbers?"

"We still have a lot to learn about each other."

"I know someone who is looking for a social media correspondent. She is a beauty editor at _Images._"

"Oh. Wow. I don't know what to say."

"Say I can give it to her."

Rory looked around the bar. She hadn't accepted any jobs from friends since the disastrous internship with Logan's father. In fact, she had made it a rule not to ever again.

"It's just a phone call from her," Tristan said. "Not like I'm promoting you to CEO of my multi-billion dollar corporation."

She was caught. Flustered. She tried to spit out a rebuttle, but it was pointless. And she did need some kind of a job.

"Thank you. I appreciate it and I owe you."

Tristan smirked. "I will remind you of that some day."

* * *

"Well, I don't know. Sometimes guys don't kiss girls on the first date."

"Yeah, on the Brady Bunch," Rory grumbled.

"Didn't Logan not kiss you or something?"

"And look how great that turned out."

Rory flung herself on the couch, but managed not to spill any coffee on her pajamas.

"How did you guys leave it?" Lorelai asked.

"He dropped me off, told me it was fun, and said he was glad we had run into each other."

"Well, that was nice."

"Mom, that's something that soccer moms say in the snack pack aisle at the grocery store."

"Well kid, I don't know! This is Tristan, the guy who was chasing you all of high school and you were just too young and twitterpated with Dean to pay attention to it."

"Maybe that was all left in the past. Maybe...oh wait. That's my phone." Rory slammed her mug down on the coffee table and shuffled back to her room. She caught the phone on the last ring. Unknown number. She accepted it and clicked it on to speaker phone.

"Hello?"

"Rory Gilmore?"

"This is she."

"Rory, hi. This is Carly Kerrins at _Images._ Tristan Dugrey gave me your contact information?"

"Hi Miss Kerrins."

"Please, call me Carly. Now, I just have a few questions for you. I saw that Lindsay Lohan tweet. It actually made me laugh out loud when I was in line for my latte. You're witty. Are you available to live tweet events such as the Grammy's or Fashion Week?"

Does that mean she'd be attending those things? "My schedule is flexible."

"Lovely. And will you be able to attend staff meetings three times a week in our New York offices?"

"Yes, that shouldn't be a problem."

"Alright, then you are hired. You'll be getting a call from HR by the end of the day. You can come in for your first staff meeting at 9 tomorrow. HR will give you all of the information. Do you have any questions for us?"

She was stunned. And in her state she felt the word vomit bubbling up to the surface. "Well, I'm flattered and of course I accept, but is that really it? You don't want samples of my work, or a resume? You are basing this off of one lousy Lohan tweet?"

"This is obviously on a trial basis. We will give you three weeks then take it from there. The pay is crap."

"Oh, I see. Well I wasn't expecting-"

"Tristan spoke very highly of you. He said I would be a fool to let you go to a Conde Nast publication."

"Well, thank you, that is very nice."

"Wait...hang on Rory. What? No, babe. I told you. 7. And can you pick up the dry cleaning? I'll be late."

Rory headed back to the living room and rolled her eyes at Lorelai, who had been listening to everything.

"Oh and babe. BABE. Wait. We have dinner with my parents tonight. 8 o'clock reservations at Centennial. Did you hear that? Babe? Tristan?"

Rory almost dropped the phone.

"Rory you there?"

"Yes Carly."

"See you tomorrow at 9."

"Yeah, 9," Rory mumbled. She hung up the phone.

"Well," Lorelai said. "I guess that's why he didn't kiss you good night."


	4. Chapter 4

******Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters associated with the show.**

A/N: Hopefully I fixed the formatting errors in my previous chapters (and future) so jumps between POV and time should be easier to navigate. Thanks for the reviews! I read them all and consider all of the feedback.

**Chapter Four: Bright Lights, Big City**

**"****He's just such a jerk. I can't even believe that I thought for a second that I wanted to date him! God, people really don't change."**

Rory dipped another tortilla chip into the salsa and popped it into her mouth. She chewed bitterly, keeping her eye on the kids playing in front of her. Lane had brought her boys over for a play date with Matthew. Play dates like these were becoming more common at Lorelai's. Lane's boys were older, three now, but they didn't always play fair. Steve was already pouting on the landing of the stairs as he waited out his time out.

"Look, Rory, maybe I shouldn't be the one to say this but, are you sure it was a date?"

Rory looked at Lane as if she had two heads. "He picked me up, we ate dinner, he paid. Of course it was a date."

"Kwan, if you hit Matthew with that nerf ball one more time you will join Steve in time out." Kwan took one look at his brother and dropped the ball. Lane turned back to Rory. "What exactly did he say to you when he asked you out?"

"He said, 'Get dinner with me tomorrow night.'"

"Assertive, I like it."

"Or maybe it was more of a "Grab dinner with me."

"Grab or get? Those are two very different phrasings. Grab is casual. Get is more demanding. Steve, time out's over. Keep your hands off of your brother, okay?"

Steve scooted off of the landing and joined the other boys by the mess of legos on the living room floor.

Rory thought hard about the moment Tristan had asked her to dinner. They had been dancing. She had been enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around her. The room had been warm and the alcohol had just started to make her head float.

"Let's get dinner tomorrow night."

"I can't. We have band practice."

"No, that's what Tristan said to me."

"Oh."

"Oh what?"

"Yeah, Ror, that wasn't a date," Lane said gently.

Rory stabbed another chip into the salsa. "God I'm such an idiot."

"No, Rory! You're not an idiot. You just got caught up in the nostalgia of the whole thing."

Rory shook her head. "What am I doing, Lane? Accepting this job when I said I wouldn't take any more favors from these people. I don't want to work for _Images._ I wash my face with Target brand face wash. How am I supposed to tweet for the beauty editor of the magazine?"

Matthew began wailing, pulling Rory's attention towards her little brother. She crawled around the coffee table and scooped him into a hug. He kept wailing. She jounced him a bit.

"And what about him?" She asked Lane.

"Matthew, he'll be fine. He's probably just tired. Isn't his nap soon?"

"That's not what I meant," Rory said above his wails. "I'm moving back home with my mother and her new family. And all of this is just...weird."

Lane got up, grabbing a teddy bear off the couch. She passed it to Matthew who stopped wailing and settled for intermittent sobs. He laid his head against Rory's shoulder.

"I can only imagine how weird this all is for you," Lane agreed. "But maybe moving back in here is exactly what you need to make you stop feeling like this is your mother's new family and make you start feeling like they are your family too."

Rory looked down at the little boy hiccuping on her shoulder. "I didn't mean that. I love him, I do."

"There's no need to explain yourself to me," Lane said gently. "I labored for hours with these little punks and still there are afternoons where I look at them, wondering how these aliens invaded my life."

"You're an amazing mom."

"I try."

Rory looked up at the clock. "I guess I should put him down. My mom should be back soon and then I am heading back to Boston to start moving some of my stuff out."

"Do you think it will take a lot of trips?"

"I'm putting most of it in storage, so hopefully not. I want to be out by next week."

"I'm glad you're coming home, Ror. I've missed having you around. And I'm sure when you are settled back in you will realize that things really aren't all that different around here."

Rory knew that Lane had meant the words to be reassuring, but that was exactly what she feared most.

* * *

Even after living in New York for six months last fall, Rory still felt small when she crossed Sixth Ave the next morning. She knew that was what some people loved about the city. Personally, Rory didn't need any more help feeling anonymous. New York didn't really excite her. It made her feel the way she felt in Chilton, eating lunch by herself with her book and her walkman as company.

Her commute into the city had been easy, although it wasn't exactly brief. Even though she was only a one hour train ride from the city, door to door it probably took closer to two hours. Two hours to sip her coffee and stew in nervous energy about what she had gotten herself into.

The _Images_ offices were much like Rory had anticipated. There was the big lobby and the people hurrying towards the elevators, Starbucks cups in hand. Rory glanced at her post-it note for the millionth time. 57th floor. Ste B. She marched with determination towards the elevator, trying her best to look like she knew where she was going.

Once on the 57th floor she found the receptionist, gave her name, and took a seat. Carly would be out to show her to the meeting room. Rory took the time to look around. The offices were modern, open, with glass walls and sleek furniture. Poster-sized prints of famous _Images_ covers were hung around the office. Nothing about the decor surprised her.

She also watched the people at work. They were all chic twenty and thirty-somethings. No Anna Wintours here. Unsurprisingly, their work attire made Rory feel frumpy. She had gone back to Boston to try to find her most stylish work-appropriate outfit. But the straight legged trouser and blouse she had selected stood out among the skinny jeans and mini skirts the other girls were wearing. At least she had gone with the heels.

"Rory?"

Rory looked up and saw a girl about her age standing in front of her.

"Yes, that's me."

"Rory, hi! I'm Carly Kerrins."

Her hand was outstretched so Rory shook it firmly as she stood up. "Hi Carly, it's so nice to meet you."

"Welcome," she said brightly. She glanced at her watch. "We have a quick second to take a peek around the office before our meeting begins. Did you find the place ok? How was your train? Tristan said you live in Boston?"

"I did, but I'm in the process of moving back to Connecticut. The train wasn't bad at all."

"I'm happy to hear it. I thought you took the train in from Boston this morning. That would have been insane!"

Rory smiled politely, unsure of the correct response.

"So over here are the Cubes," Carly said, waving her arm to indicate the groups of cubicles in the center of the office. "These house our interns and freelance writers. Over there is the supply closet, water cooler, bagel tray...even though no one eats them, then there's the-"

Rory nodded along as Carly whisked her around the office. She took the opportunity to really size her up. She was definitely only 25 or 26. She was thin. She looked like she was true to her word and never touched the bagel tray. But her legs were toned, maybe a yogalates convert? Her hair was flipped in an impeccable blow out. She had deep brown eyes set under heavy eyelashes. And of course, in true Beauty Editor fashion, she was wearing spring's boldest lip color.

"And then over there by the Editors' offices is the Art Department. Any questions?"

"About a million, but it was a great tour."

Carly smiled warmly and put a hand on Rory's arm. "It's overwhelming isn't it? When I first started here right out of college, I never thought that I would be the one showing anyone the ropes!"

She was kind. There was nothing unlikeable about the girl. She was gorgeous, yes, but there was a genuine quality about her that shone through.

"Let's go get our seats at the briefing. You'll meet some people and get some direction on your first responsibilities."

* * *

Two hours later, Rory left the meeting with the _Images_ social media account passwords and a list of tweet topics she was supposed to cover before Wednesday's briefing. Four beauty, three health, six fashion (all referencing info in this month's issue, of course). Then there were six pop culture tweets to be sent out. The facebook page needed some sprucing up, and she had been given permission to rephrase things a bit. None of this screamed full time work, and her pay was reflecting it. But Rory had to admit to herself that she enjoyed the meeting and if she had to do something like this, it might as well be part of something big, like _Images._

"Hey, how did it go?"

Rory looked up from her trek to the elevators and saw Tristan occupying the chair in the lobby that she had been waiting in just a couple of hours before.

"Well, I'm no Madeline or Louise, but hopefully social media will appreciate my input on hot nail trends."

Tristan laughed. "What happened to those girls?"

"God only knows. Married?"

"To husband number two, I'm sure."

"So what are you doing here," Rory asked, smiling, feeling happy that although she did not have an expensive salon blow out, her hair was styled and it was doing its own rather impressive flippy thing.

"Meeting Carly for an early lunch," he said.

Rory deflated. Oh right, Carly. God, she had to stop thinking about him that way. She had had no problem ignoring his charm in high school, what was her problem now?

"I was hoping you would join us," he added.

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Yes please do," Carly said, appearing from behind Rory. She put her hands flat on Tristan's chest and kissed him deeply. She then turned and flashed a white smile at Rory. Her bold lip color was still perfectly intact. "I'd love to hear more about Tristan in high school. I should have thought of lunch earlier!"

"Well then, it's set," Tristan said. "Shall we?"

Carly's Blackberry rang. She looked at it. "Ah damn, it's London, I have to take this before they close for the day. One sec?"

"Babe, we have reservations…"

"Then go on without me. They can add a chair when I get there." She accepted the call and hurried through the glass doors, back towards her office.

"Shall we?" Tristan asked.

Rory, despite the fact that all signs pointed to this lunch being completely awkward and uncomfortable, found herself glad to be joining them and not hurrying back on the next train to Stars Hollow.

"We shall."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters associated with the show.**

**Chapter Five: The Song Remains The Same**

Tristan watched Rory as she walked out of the building, just a step or two in front of him. It was a confident walk. And he couldn't help but notice how her slacks hugged her hips, or how her heels made her legs look miles long.

"Your girl is lovely, Hubbell," Rory said over her shoulder. Her eyes sparkled a bit in the light from the lobby chandelier.

"What?"

"Carly," Rory said, grinning widely. "She is really cool. I have to confess, I was surprised."

"That she's great?"

"I have never really known you to date girls with any kind of substance."

"Not for lack of trying," he said. She held his gaze for a moment, then turned ahead, breaking their glance. Damn, he thought. He needed to stop straddling this line. He couldn't flirt with her like that. He could see it in her eyes. Something in her was more susceptible to his charm than she used to be. And Tristan was very much with Carly.

"I took Paris out that one time," he said quickly. She laughed.

"Ah yes, a true meeting of minds," she said dryly. They passed through the glass doors of the main lobby and found themselves on Sixth Avenue. "Where's lunch?"

"Uptown. Just a few blocks, we can walk. A place called Red Zeppelin."

"Original."

"It has great lunch service and is not one of the spots clogged by the corporate crowd."

"Just the yous and the Carlys of the world."

"And the Rorys."

She smiled again and turned right, towards uptown. "So where is your office?"

"Sixth. Between 42nd and 43rd."

"Bryant Park?"

"Bank of America Tower. You a fan of Bryant Park?" he asked

"No more than the average _Image_ employee."

"Touche."

"Why?"

"You just seem pretty familiar with that part of Sixth."

They paused at a corner, letting a stream of taxis and delivery guys on bicycles fly by. Tristan craned his neck, but didn't see any more traffic crossing. Rory hopped lightly off the curb, deftly avoiding a sludgy puddle that smelled vaguely of piss.

"I lived on West 4th and 6th for about 6 months last year, right before moving to Boston to work for the Herald."

"By Washington Square Park?"

"Yup. By the park."

Tristan thought about that for a moment, surprised by what he had just learned. He watched her as she moved uptown. She didn't have the air of a tourist. She wasn't distracted by the tall buildings or exclaiming about the smells wafting from the vendor carts on the street. She was a New Yorker. Little Mary from Chilton, a seasoned New Yorker.

"How did you end up down there?"

"In that neighborhood? Well, I only really had a week to move myself to New York and that was the only neighborhood I had ever explored. So I narrowed my Craigslist search and reached out to some very desperate NYU kids until I found a room to sublet for the length of my assignment."

"What were you working on?"

"Eh, some independent newspaper hired me to edit copy. Like, literally spell check and grammar check."

"And you left when you weren't editor in chief after six months?"

Rory sighed. "I'm clearly not that picky, Tristan."

That had struck a nerve. Noted.

"They laid me off after five months. Then I only had enough money for the rent in my shoebox for another month, so I packed up and found the job in Boston. Where I worked until they fired me. It is a pattern lately."

"At least it is something to depend on."

Rory snorted. They walked in silence for another minute. "Is that it on the corner?"

"Yeah," he said. They crossed the final street and Tristan held the door open as Rory passed into Red Zeppelin.

True to his word, the place was crowded, but not with suits. The place was dark even though it was a clear day outside. People were packed in the entrance, and Tristan pushed through them determinedly, Rory nudging her way behind him.

"Dugrey, reservation for two."

"We were just about to give away your table."

"Well, I'm certainly glad you didn't."

"Is your entire party here?"

"Right here," he lied. Rory looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Right this way," the hostess said, grabbing two menus and walking towards the back of the restaurant.

"They'll grab a chair for Carly when she gets here, it's the only way we will ever get seated."

"Got it," she said.

They sat down and Rory busied herself in her menu. "Everything here is a pun on a Led Zeppelin song."

"Like the name of the place."

"Consistent," she said, still scanning the menu. "That's it, it's settled."

"And it will be?"

"Stairway to Bacon."

"What is that?"

"A terrible pun that presumably involves bacon."

Tristan read the description. Oddly enough, it was a salad.

"So back to Carly," Rory said, settling into her seat. "What's your story?"

Tristan immediately felt little pringles of sweat bead around the collar of his shirt. "Carly is my girlfriend," he said simply, flipping the page of his menu. Hmm, maybe he would go with the Glazed and Confused pulled pork.

"Why, thank you, Captain Obvious," she said playfully. Oh good, she was teasing him. Maybe he wasn't really in the hot seat after all.

"Carly is my girlfriend. We met senior year of college in LA. We were both at SC. She was sorority president, I was in the frat next door...one thing led to another and here we are."

"Bada bing…"

"Bada boom."

"You moved to New York together?"

"She was offered a job at _Images_ and I joined my family's firm. We moved here simultaneously, but not together."

"Do you live together now?"

"43rd and 10th."

"Ugh, Hell's Kitchen?"

"It's not that bad. It's up and coming."

"Isn't there a giant McDonald's on 43rd and 10th?"

"No, that's a couple of blocks up, on ninth."

"Ah."

The little sweat beads grew. Tristan adjusted his tie a bit. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Not a fan of Hell's Kitchen?"

"I'm not a fan of living in a neighborhood that is one big Madison Square Garden parking lot, no."

Tristan chuckled. "It's industrial but it's not that bad."

"I'm sure," she said dryly.

"I'm sorry it's no Washington Square. We can't all be Edith Wharton."

"I never said we could," she said.

Tristan turned back to his menu.

"I'm just surprised, is all," she said. She wasn't dropping it, apparently.

"That?"

"Of all of the neighborhoods in Manhattan that you could live in…"

There was a funny emphasis on the _you._ So that's what this was.

"Carly insists on being able to pay for her half of the rent. She has a fancy title at _Images_ but she's not exactly Anna Wintour-yet. Rent is good, commute is doable, and there is actually closet space for her shoes."

"That closet space is a hot commodity around here," Rory said. She busied herself in her menu, Tristan took her lead and did the same.

"So it's pretty serious?" She wasn't looking up from the menu.

"You could say that."

"Serious like there will be a ring, and a cake, and a stroller?"

Little beads of sweat again. "Not for a very long time."

"The stroller?" she asked, looking him in the eye with what could only be her investigative stare.

"Any of it. We're 25. Not 35."

"Why didn't you tell me about her?"

There they were. Big beads of sweat now. He stalled. "When?"

"When? Oh, I don't know. During the drinks, or the dancing, or maybe even the dinner?"

He was cornered. And he had known that she was going to ask these questions. And he had suspected that she would be mad about the whole topic, any self-respecting woman would be.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you think there was something there between us, is that where this was coming from?"

As soon as the words were out, Tristan wanted to bite his own tongue. She looked stricken.

"No, I…"

His phone rang. Ungallantly he dug for it in his pocket as quickly as he could.

"Hey."

"Hey babe, I'm not making it to lunch. I'll make it up to you at dinner."

"K."

"Treat Rory, ok? And invite her for lunch Wednesday, I promise I'll be able to slip away then."

"Ok."

"I love you, Baby."

"Love you too."

"She's not coming?" Rory asked.

"Not today but she wants to try again Wednesday."

"Ah."

Rory turned the pages of the menu slowly.

"Rory, look…"

"I'm going home," she said, interrupting the words coming out of Tristan's mouth.

"Hey, Rory, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said."

She stood up, threw her napkin down on her vacated seat. "It doesn't matter Tristan."

Tristan stood up too. "Rory…"

"I'll see you Wednesday."

She strutted out of the restaurant, righteous. And she had every right to be. Just like always he shut down communication between them. Just like always, she ran out.

_You are with Carly, and you are with her for a reason._

The thought drifted through his mind lazily and stuck around for a moment or two. When he finished acknowledging his own wisdom he realized he was still simply standing in the middle of the crowded restaurant by his empty table. He pushed in his chair and walked out. He'd grab a sandwich from the cart back in his office.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters associated with the show.**

**Author's Note: Sorry this chapter is a little short. There will be much more to come this week!**

**Chapter Six: Blowouts**

**Rory fumed. She fumed the whole train ride home. She fumed as she ranted to Lorelai. She fumed all day Tuesday as she sent out the vapid tweets she had been assigned. She almost quit, twice, but her mother stopped her. By Wednesday morning her anger towards Tristan had quieted to a simmer. She simmered on the train into the city. She simmered on her walk to the ****_Images_****offices. She simmered the entire elevator ride up. And then she saw Carly and felt the fuming come back around.**

And so she fumed the entire three hour meeting. Logically, she knew that none of this was Carly's fault. Carly had no idea that Tristan was running around being a deceptive cad. But Rory couldn't help staring at her across the table. About fifteen minutes into the meeting, Carly's face started to blur in Rory's mind until eventually it was so warped she saw Lindsay sitting across from her. Dean's Lindsay. Pathetic little Lindsay who couldn't hold on to Dean.

At this thought Rory blushed. She felt the warmth spread across her cheeks. She couldn't believe that after all of these years she still could think such an ugly thought about Lindsay. Poor, innocent Lindsay.

Poor Carly.

By the end of the meeting, Rory had convinced herself that Carly was a victim of Tristan's playboy ways. How many times had he cheated, and how many times had she turned a blind eye?

"Hey, so Rory, I was thinking. I have an appointment to go get a blowout right now. It's all for an article I'm doing next month on blowouts for every budget. I was thinking you should come along. You can tweet out a picture of the process as a teaser. And we can have girl talk while I'm stuck in the chair. You know, get to know each other since I missed lunch on Monday?"

Rory looked up at Carly who was standing next to her seat at the conference table. "Uh, sure," she answered reluctantly. Watch poor Carly get a blowout?

Carly smiled a genuine, pearly white smile. "Excellent. I just need my bag."

* * *

A half hour later the two were seated in a salon on the Upper West Side. Carly was in the salon chair, an Italian man buzzing around her as he juggled an array of hair products and appliances. Rory sat in the empty hair station next to Carly. The salon was upscale. There were marble floors and ivy growing up trellises on the walls. Most of the other chairs were full of clients getting a mid-day makeover. The receptionists stood at the front desk, all business.

"So then what happened?" Carly asked, a smile spread across her pretty face.

Rory laughed a little. "Well, I buckled that seat belt around my waist, grabbed the umbrella and Logan's hand, and jumped."

Carly's smile grew. "And to think, my first piece in the school paper was on Spring handbag trends. That's so cool. So then you and this Logan guy…"

Rory took a sip of her cucumber water. "We dated for a couple of years. It ended after college."

"And you're single now?" she asked, lightly, not really prying, just making conversation.

"Oh yes."

"Well that's no fun," she said.

"It's okay. I've been moving around a lot. It's no big deal, really."

"Have you dated a lot since the college guy?"

"Not really," Rory said. She took another sip of her cucumber water to try to hide her discomfort.

"I'll have to introduce you to some of Tristan's friends," Carly said, settling back into her seat. "He has plenty of cute ones. All of them know how to clean up to be introduced to Mom."

"I bet," Rory said sarcastically.

"That had a bite."

"Sorry," Rory said. "It's just that after Logan I swore of the society guy. And I'm assuming most of Tristan's friends are that type."

"Well that's no fun," Carly said, brushing off the way Rory blew off her idea. "Hey, take a picture of this for Twitter."

Rory stood up and captured a picture of Carly. Her hair was streaked with a myriad of products and sectioned off into pieces and pinned to her head with huge, plastic clips. Rory tweeted it out, adding it to the first few steps she had already posted.

"So what's it like, dating?" she asked Rory. "I don't mean to pry or sound like one of _those girls._ You know those awful ones who don't have any clue what it's really like and they try for sympathy and just end up sounding like a bitch?"

"I've come across a few in my day," Rory answered.

"But what's it like? Is it really as awful as people make it out to be?"

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't really know. I feel like people don't really date. Unless you go online, and I so haven't tried that yet."

"Why not?"

"I'm just not there yet."

"Girls, I must turn on the blowdryer now."

"Go ahead, Alessandro," Carly said.

As Alessandro worked on drying the sections of Carly's hair, Rory mulled over her lack of a dating life. Things had been slow lately. Not even slow. Dead. Rory hadn't had sex with anyone since she had broken up with Logan. No one. Not that she felt like that was out of character. She had never really done the casual sex thing. She had tried with Logan, and that had ultimately ended with an engagement that she could not accept. Far from casual.

Her mind drifted to Logan and his new wife. Somehow, irrationally, it made her burn that he went to bed with her every night. It was like in the universal game that all exes compete in, Logan was winning. And having lots of sex. And she? She was just drying up.

"Get this, Rory!"

Rory took another picture of Carly as Alessandro captured her hair between the dryer and his round brush. Carly. She was an initiated one, part of that club of girls who live with their boyfriends. Who have fabulous sex, and fabulous shoes, and fabulous jobs. Fabulous Carly. Having fabulous sex with Tristan. Le sigh.

* * *

And that feeling of Carly's fabulousness continued to grow as Rory sat across from her at lunch an hour later. The two young women were eating overpriced salads, dressing on the side. Rory couldn't help but think how her mother would shudder at her menu choice. She knew she was being one of _those girls_. But she wasn't eighteen anymore. She was a little more aware of her eating habits than her mother had ever been.

Lunch with Carly had been, well, fabulous. Carly entertained Rory with stories about growing up in Los Angeles.

"Well, the valley, really," Carly had confessed as she sipped her water with lemon. "About ten miles from downtown. It is anything but fabulous. Just a sleepy little suburb that somehow has stayed in some sort of bubble."

"And Tristan told me you met at USC?" Rory asked as she picked at some of the feta cheese on her salad.

"Did he tell you how we met?"

"Something about your sorority and his fraternity?"

Carly laughed. "He never tells the story. I think it embarasses him." She chewed delicately on a forkful of craisins. "We met after his frat house burned down. Sophomore year."

"Burned down?"

"He swears he had nothing to do with it. Especially now. I think he has fraternity amnesia. When he went off to military school, he really cleaned up his act. But then college happened and he fell off the wagon pretty hard."

"So you don't believe him?"

"I didn't say that," she said, but it was in a playful tone. "Anyway, he moved into our sorority house and lived on our couch for the rest of the semester. We made him our houseboy and subjected him to all sorts of humiliating tasks. Buying us tampons, cleaning the bathroom, baking us cupcakes...that sort of thing."

Rory laughed, thinking about Tristan doing all of these tasks, probably protesting at each one of them, but loving the attention from all of the girls.

"We started hooking up by the end of the semester. To be honest, he kind of followed me around like a puppy dog until I caved finals week. But then junior year rolled around and he was back living with the boys in the new frat house so he started acting like a dick. We didn't actually officially start dating until senior year when I gave him an ultimatum."

"Typical guy."

"Typical," Carly agreed. "I don't know," she said at length. "It's been a great few years, but I think we had the most fun back in the early days, before we were official. Everything was so exciting, every text made my heart jump. Every night together was memorable." She sighed.

Rory pushed her salad around on her plate. "So things with you guys are…"

"Oh, we're fine," Carly answered quickly. "Things are wonderful. We really balance each other well. It's just fun to remember the early days."

The waiter came by, cleared away their plates, and dropped off their bill. Carly took it, Rory protested, and she insisted that she could put it on the _Image _card as a business lunch.

As the two parted ways on the sidewalk, Carly put her hand on Rory's arm, stopping her. "Today was really fun, " she said.

"Yeah, it was."

"I know you don't want me to play matchmaker," Carly said, "and I'm not. But Tristan and I are having people over on Friday. I want you to come. I like getting to know Tristan's friends from high school."

"I don't know," Rory said. "I'm not exactly local…"

"We have two bedrooms. You can crash. Just bring a bag when you come in for work. You can spend the day in the city and come hang out at our place. Or even better! I have my second blowout appointment Friday. I'll change the appointment so that it is for two. Are you in?"

Rory thought about it for a moment. What else was she going to do?

"Count me in."


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters associated with the show.

Chapter Seven: Conflicted

"Sooooo, party at Tristan's house, huh?" Lorelai heaved herself down upon Rory's twin sized bed with a groan. Rory turned from her mirror and looked at her very pregnant mother. The pregnancy wasn't easy on Lorelai, she was forty one after all. But she would never admit that it was taking a toll on her.

"Well, it's more of a party at Carly's."

"Uh huh." Lorelai fluffed a pillow. "Your best friend, Carly."

"Hey, I told you that she's pretty cool."

"So you are having a sleepover at your best friend Carly's."

"Something like that."

"Not at the guy's house who you went on a quasi date with last week?"

"Get out."

"Oh no. I just sat down. There'll be no getting for about five more minutes."

Rory turned back to her packing. She wasn't sure if she should pack jeans and a cute top or a dress. She decided on a dress. You could never really go wrong with a dress.

"So...not to harp on the issue, but why exactly are you going? I mean, two days ago you were going to kill Tristan."

Rory stiffened a little. She didn't exactly know what to say to that, after all, her mother was right.

"Hey, aren't you the one who is always encouraging me to act my age? Friday nights in Stars Hollow consist of babysitting for you, Sookie, or Lane. Which is really just a regression to being sixteen."

"Are you insinuating that Friday nights in the Hollow are lame?"

"I'm almost ready to reinstate Friday night dinners."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"Well then stop bugging me about going out tonight. I'm twenty five. Do I need a logical reason for everything that I do?"

"No. But you are Rory Gilmore and it has been many years since you acted without a plan."

"Yeah, and look where that has gotten me."

"Rory!"

Rory stopped packing and looked at Lorelai. "Honestly, Mom. All of the planning, all of the being careful and thoughtful and cautious. Where has that gotten me? I'm twenty five, back at home, working a job that is a glorified internship. I never date, I have a very limited pool of friends, none of whom can even relate to me right now. And who was I when I was being a little more rebellious? I was in love, living on my own, and I had confidence in my dreams."

"Living in your grandparents' pool house is hardly living on your own."

"I'm not talking about that," Rory said with a sigh.

"Just the Logan years in general?"

"I guess."

"You're looking at them through rose colored glasses, kid."

"Maybe. But you have to admit that something's gotta give."

Lorelai sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, honey. When I was twenty five I had a nine year old. I don't know that there is a specific place you should be right now. But I do know that I want you to be happy. And lately you are walking around this place pretty damn miserable. And that makes me wonder if hanging out with Tristan is going to help that or hurt that."

Rory zipped up her overnight bag. "I guess we will have to see, then." She kissed her mother on the cheek and headed out to catch her train.

* * *

Tristan stood in a corner of the small kitchen sipping whiskey. In front of him was a rather conflicting scene. Carly was seated at one of the bar stools at the counter, cutting up an array of cheeses for her appetizer platter. Rory was standing by the microwave, working on melting down blocks of cheese. What conflicted him didn't seem to be the contrasting taste in cheeses. Instead, he felt ill at ease watching the two women in the kitchen, chatting and laughing as they prepped their own dishes. Well, the problem was really just one of the women. He had watched Carly move around the kitchen a thousand times and he couldn't remember ever having this feeling. What this feeling was, specifically, was a little difficult to pinpoint at the moment.

He had heard Carly mention that morning that both women were going out to get their hair done for the magazine that afternoon. Carly always got her hair done, that was nothing new. In fact, had she not mentioned the appointment, he wouldn't have noticed. Rory, on the other hand, he noticed. Not that she looked dolled up or overdone. She just looked...beautiful.

Tristan had noticed it the moment he had walked in the door. Even as he kissed Carly hello. And then she stood up and crossed the small room to the microwave and he had seen the tight little black dress she had on. And those heels…

For days now Tristan had been regretting the way he had snapped at her at lunch, accusing her of reading into things. Now, watching her smile at Carly's story as she stirred up that damned liquid cheese, he knew that the attraction he had tried to accuse her of was growing stronger within himself. Not that he should have been surprised. He had pined after her, almost achingly, all through Chilton. And then threw Military school. After the fact, it was easy to convince himself that she had haunted him throughout those years because she was the last girl he had really been hung up on before being surrounded by other teenage boys. But now, that old feeling of unfulfilled longing simmered inside of him.

When Carly had told him that she was coming, Tristan had expected to come home to a sulking Rory, the one that he knew so well in high school. But she had apparently decided to forget it all in favor of having a pleasant evening. And somehow this was disconcerting to Tristan. Like the feelings he was trying to smother were unfounded. Like the tension that had existed between them was in his head.

It hadn't been. Her reaction the other day was proof of that.

"What are those," she asked pleasantly, nodding towards his drink.

"What?"

"Those little cubes. They don't look like ice. What are they?"

"Oh, whiskey stones." He shook his glass and the stones clinked together.

"I got them for him for his birthday," Carly filled in. "You stick them in the freezer so they act like ice without melting and watering it down."

"Cool," Rory said. She took the glass from Tristan's hand and swirled it around. Damn, she smelled good. "I'll have to remember these as a gift for my grandfather."

"I found them in a catalog that I've tossed, but you can probably just google."

"I'll be sure to do that. Can you pass me the salsa?"

Tristan watched as Rory dumped a jar of supermarket salsa into the melted cheese. She stirred it all together and the concoction settled into a brownish, lumpy mess. It looked like something that he would have eaten when he was high, back when he did that kind of thing, that is.

"What, exactly, is that?" he dared.

"Velveeta. I know, it looks kind of funky, but I promise you'll love it. Here, try it with a chip."

He couldn't resist the devilish sparkle in her eye. He took the offered chip, dipped it in the mess in the bowl, and tried it.

"Not bad," he conceded.

"I hear it is a delicacy in some countries."

"Red states are not separate countries."

"And what are you implying?"

"That Velveteen must be eaten predominantly in Walmart dominated states"

"Velveeta. And I bought this right at your corner Quik Mart, which pokes a hole in that theory."

"Ah, the Quik Mart. I should have known. If it had been the-"

"Ah shit!"

He looked over to the other side of the small kitchen to Carly. She was wiping at her dress with a dish towel. "You okay?"

"I spilled wine on my dress. I'll have to soak it. Tristan, come back with me to help me with the zipper?"

She rushed back towards their bedroom. Tristan followed her, throwing Rory a quick "Be right back" over his shoulder.

He closed their bedroom door behind him. Carly was already lining her shoes up in her closet, neatly, like always. She stood and turned her back towards Tristan, expectantly. He swept her hair over her shoulder, planting a kiss on her neck as he did so. He slowly pulled the zipper down her back, tracing the motion with his finger on her bare skin.

"God Tristan, not now." She stepped away from him without turning to him. She quickly pulled off her dress, draped it over her arm, and stood staring into her closet. "This is going to take me a minute," she said, still not turning. "Go back into the kitchen and entertain Rory?"

"Yes, dear."

* * *

Everything started happening at once after that. When Tristan went back into the kitchen he had just settled into a conversation with Rory when the doorbell rang and the first of his friends had arrived. After that, guests trickled in and out all evening.

Tristan had set himself up as bartender in the kitchen. Liquor flowed as the hours passed. His friends gathered around him. Most of them were friends he had made through his business dealings in New York, a collection of young entrepreneurs, much like himself. A few others were friends from Hartford who had likewise settled in the city.

Occasionally, Tristan would look up and watch Carly as she entertained some of her girlfriends in the living room. She often teased him that even though they lived in New York, their friends acted like they were at a middle school dance-boys over here, girls over there.

And then, sometime around midnight when what seemed to be the last of his friends left the apartment, Tristan noticed Rory. She was tucked away on the couch, out of sight from where Tristan had been set up in the kitchen. Next to her on the couch was Nathan Holcomb.

He didn't look like he was going to stay next to her long. In fact, it looked like he was inching his way towards being on top of her. That longing that had been simmering earlier? A rolling boil.

* * *

Nathan Hedge Fund had spent a year in Tokyo and lived in Greenwich, even though the commute was a bitch. That's what Rory had gotten out of their conversation. But she wasn't really thinking about any of that now. She was thinking about how long it had been since she had been kissed. She was thinking about how Nathan definitely had that look about him, like he was thinking about going in for it. She was thinking about whether or not she was going to go home with him. Was she ready to be that girl?

She felt the couch sag a bit. Over Nathan's shoulder, she could see that Tristan had sat down.

"Carly went to bed," he announced. He yawned. "It's getting late. Long day today."

Rory felt Nathan pull away from her. "Do you want to grab a nightcap?"

"I don't think so man, another time," Tristan responded.

Nathan looked over at him, throwing him a bewildered look. He turned to Rory. "We could go back to my place. The view is pretty incredible. It might even be nice enough to go up on the roof…"

Decision time. Her head floated a little, most likely a mix of the wine and the late hour. Was she going to be that girl? Take control of her life? End the little pity party she had been throwing herself over being dried up at twenty five?

"Nathan…" she trailed.

"All right, good night man." Tristan was unmistakably ushering Nathan towards the door. By the time the door was open, Tristan's flow of chatter was so smooth that Rory was beginning to think that maybe she had missed some cue on Nathan's part.

The door closed heavily behind Nathan. Tristan moved into the kitchen and began making lots of noise.

After a moment, Rory followed him in. He was throwing plates and glasses into the dishwasher.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" He ran some water in the sink over the dishes that had collected there.

"That. With Nathan."

"It's late, I want to go to bed. I didn't want him here anymore."

"You didn't let me speak for myself," she said. "You just kicked him out."

Tristan turned off the tap. He paused a minute over the sink before turning to her. "You were going to go home with him?"

Rory crossed her arms across herself. "It wasn't your decision to make for me."

"That wasn't an answer."

"What does it matter?"

"So you make it a habit to just go home with strange men? I have to admit, I'm surprised."

"It's not a habit."

"But that's a yes, you were going home with him?"

"That's a 'it's none of your business.'"

"It would have been if you had walked out of here."

"How so?" she asked.

"Well, I would have had to explain to Carly why you were missing at breakfast tomorrow morning."

"I'm sure she would have survived."

Tristan threw a few more dishes into the sink. He reached for the bowl of Velveeta. "This crap that you made is all congealed."

"Give it to me," Rory said. She grabbed the bowl from him and put it in the sink. She ran some water into it. "Let it soak, it'll be fine tomorrow."

A minute passed. They stood in the kitchen, staring each other down. Finally Tristan sighed. "Nathan's a jerk."

"Oh really? Nathan was the jerk in the room?"

Tristan reached out and placed a hand on her arm. "Trust me?"

Maybe it was the alcohol intensifying the moment. But Rory could have sworn she read something sincere in his eyes. She gave him one nod. "Fine, I trust you."

Tristan removed his hand and took a step back. "Bed," he said simply. "You all set in the guest room?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Thanks."

Tristan nodded and headed off to his room. The door closed quietly behind him. Rory stood another moment in the kitchen. She ran her hand over where Tristan's hand had rested on her arm. She shivered, and shut off the lights.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or anyone related to the show.

a/n: Thank you for the reviews! I should have several chapters up this week :)

Chapter Eight: Moving On

"Say it."

"Say what?"

"Say it."

"I don't know what you could possibly be referring to," Lorelai said, dropping a pop tart into the toaster.

Rory didn't pick her head up off of the kitchen table. It was pounding too hard for that. This was the first position she had felt minor relief in since she woke up at dawn this morning. She had scribbled a thank you note to Carly and caught the first train back to Connecticut. Now she found herself back home and it wasn't even nine o'clock.

"Say it," she groaned.

"Ah HAH!"

She moaned. "Keep going."

"What was that?" Lorelai asked.

Rory picked her head up. "Keep going."

"I TOLD YOU!" Lorelai said, gleefully. She dropped heavily into the seat next to Rory.

Rory moaned again. Her head was back down on her arms. "I think I'm going to throw up."

"The truth hurts, kid. Or at least, is nauseating."

Luke walked into the kitchen. "What truth?" He looked at Rory, crumpled up on the kitchen table. "Maybe I don't want to know," he said, and opened the fridge.

"Thoughts on getting involved with a man in a serious relationship. Go," Lorelai ordered.

"I tend to stay away from all relationships with men, and I'd like to leave it that way."

"You're useless," Lorelai said. She reached over and tugged on his flannel. He backed away from the fridge. "Go to the diner. It's girl talk time."

Rory watched as Luke leaned down to kiss Lorelai. "I'll make steak tonight?"

"Lasagna."

"We bought stuff for steak."

"Baby doesn't want steak. Baby wants lasagna."

"Baby is a fetus and has no such opinion."

"Maybe I wasn't talking about our child."

"Ew, Mom, gross," Rory mumbled. "Now I'm really going to hurl."

"It's too easy," Lorelai said, smiling up at Luke.

Luke couldn't help but crack a smile back. "Lasagna it is."

"But you better call me before you come home with the groceries, I'm starting to dream about burritos…"

Rory bounced out of her chair and ran towards the bathroom. She took one look at Matthew's potty-training seat attached to the toilet, swiveled, and threw up into the sink.

When she had recovered her dignity a little, she shuffled back into the kitchen. Lorelai was coaxing Matthew to eat his Cheerios. Rory sat back down at the table.

"Better?" Lorelai asked.

"My stomach is."

"But your feelings…"

"Still pretty seasick."

"So what are you going to do?"

Rory sighed. Do? What was there to do. "I don't know, avoid him I guess. I just can't shake the feeling that he still likes me."

"And you don't want him to or you don't want to cheat?"

Rory didn't have an answer for that one. Not one that Lorelai would want to hear, anyway. So she settled for: "I don't want him to."

And so for the next several weeks, Rory did The Right Thing. She commuted into the city for staff meetings and went straight home with her assignments. On days she had to cover Images events, she made up excuses to Carly about why she couldn't hang out casually before or after. Usually she blamed it on her mom needing help, being so pregnant and all. But really she was starting to understand Lorelai's viewpoint that a friendship with Carly was in no one's best interest.

* * *

Tristan came home from work, exhausted. It was well past dinner time, but he went to the kitchen and poured himself a stiff drink to sip before he started scavenging the refrigerator for food. Work has been complicated lately. After three years, Tristan was finally beginning to feel like Janlen's team was sufficiently trained. In truth, Tristan had been spending less time managing his grandfather's company and more time growing the internet startup company he had begun with his business partner last spring. Even though he was pulling back, juggling both careers was taking a toll on him.

He grabbed his whiskey and looked around the modest apartment for Carly. She was nowhere to be seen. He actually hadn't really seen her at home this week, other than when one of them would crawl into bed late at night, the other hardly stirring. Tristan wracked his brain, trying to recall the last time they had spent any time together. Lunch on Wednesday. And even then the two of them we're pretty attached to their Blackberrys.

Tristan flicked on the light in their bedroom and kicked off his shoes. He stretched his toes a bit and moved to loosen his tie. His hand paused when he caught sight of the open suitcases on the bed. They were both full.

She's leaving, he thought. His mind raced. He thought of the sunkissed girl he had fallen in love with in LA. He looked at the clothes in the suitcase and could only think of the fact that they hadn't had sex in six weeks. Not that he was counting.

Six weeks. And even before that...things had been drying up between them for a long time.

The front door slammed, followed by the quick clicks of Carly's heels approaching the bedroom.

"You're not dressed," she scolded.

"Were you planning on telling me that you were leaving?"

"Leaving?" She asked, slightly puzzled. "You mean my trip to Germany? I have that interview, remember? I told you at lunch this week."

Tristan searched his memory, but all he could think about was the slight sinking feeling he was experiencing. He should be relieved, but instead he was-he didn't even want to put a name to his feeling.

"Michael and Sav will be over in 5," she said, moving around him towards her suitcases. "I'm all ready, I just need to throw these cosmetics in my bag. Wear your grey suit? It goes better with my dress."

"What?"

"The gallery party, remember?"

She was looking at him with an icy, disappointed look.

Tristan didn't make any apologies. He moved towards the closet and started looking for the grey suit in question. He really could have gone for a shower, but there was no time for that. Well, he really could have gone for staying home, but that didn't seem to be an option. He slipped out of his clothes and stood in his briefs, staring at his closet. Carly grabbed a pair of heels from the closet.

"You okay?" She asked.

He turned to her. "What happens if you get the job?"

"Now's not the time to talk about it."

"Well when is the time? You leave first thing in the morning."

The doorbell rang. Michael and Sav. She threw the heels in the suitcase and zipped it up. "Hurry up and get dressed? I want to leave in five."

* * *

Colin was saying something funny. Everyone who had circled around him at the gallery was laughing, clutching their cocktails. But Tristan wasn't really listening to his childhood neighbor and friend. Instead, he was fixated on the way Carly had slipped her arm around Tristan's waist, effectively nuzzling against him. So warm and affectionate. So different from the Carly who had stared him down in their bedroom.

And in that moment he knew. The interview abroad, the months they hadn't been connecting... Carly was moving on, maybe to Germany, maybe just further downtown. But she was done.

And he was going to let her go.

He stepped out of her embrace, tired of helping her put up the perfect front that they were happy. Because he had played along. He had enjoyed the stability and support of having a partner. Coming home to Carly every night seemed a hell of a lot more appealing than coming home to an empty house, a topic on which he had spent years of his life reflecting. Daddy issues, mommy issues...they were obvious and cliche but nonetheless driving forces in his life.

He found himself staring out the enormous windows, hypnotized by the city lights beyond. His abandonment issues (his shrink's words, not his) had governed him thus far, but they did not have to make him stay. Not when she didn't desire him any more. Their lack of physical intimacy he could have worked with, solved. That coupled with her desire to seek job opportunities in a foreign country was too much for him to fight for.

Tristan felt a careless arm drape around his shoulder. He looked over and saw that it was Colin.

"You look like you need another round."

Tristan glanced into his almost empty glass. "Nah. I just need sleep. I'll probably round up Carly and head home soon."

"What you need is a night out. My friend Finn, you know Finn, right? He's having a bit of a poker party tomorrow night. In Hartford. You should come out."

"I could use a night away from this whoreish city."

"New York is no slut, good sir."

"Really? Some days I feel like she's all dressed up in her diamonds, teasing me with her seductive secrets. And then she just takes me for all I'm worth."

"Bad day at the stocks?" Colin asked, puzzled.

"I was speaking figuratively"

"Ah well. Then you do need a night out because you are babbling, Old Sport. Come to West Egg, tomorrow. 10 o'clock."

"I guess I can do that."

* * *

Rory found herself home alone with Matthew. It was late afternoon on a Thursday, one of her days off from commuting into the city for a staff meeting. She had been playing with her brother in his sandbox in the yard. It was a beautiful Indian Summer day, maybe the last before the fall chill set in. Because of this, Rory had read Matthew his pre-nap storybook on the rocker on the porch. He had fallen asleep in her lap, and although she intended to move him to his bed, she found herself enjoying the weight of his warm little body curled up against her.

She was rocking lazily, almost dozing off herself. Her eyes closed, she focused on the slow creaking groans the rocker made as she moved slowly. Then she heard the crunching noise of a car pulling in to the driveway. It couldn't be Luke or Lorelai, they were supposed to call on their way back from Babies R Us in Hartford.

She opened her eyes and spotted the Porsche. Her heart thudded against her rib cage. What the hell was he doing here?

Tristan hesitated a moment after closing his car door and squinted towards the house, taking it in. Rory slowed her rocking. He approached the house, not seeing her until he was walking up the porch steps.

"Hey," he said, leaning against the railing opposite her chair.

"Hey yourself."

A silent moment passed, Rory wondering what he was doing on her front porch, Tristan not offering up the reason. He was staring at Matthew quizzically. Rory racked her memory, trying to decide if she had ever mentioned her brother to him. By the look on his face, she assumed she hadn't.

"Is he..."

"Mine?" Rory asked, surprised. It looked like that had cost Tristan to ask that question. "No no no. This is my brother, Matthew."

Tristan's face relaxed visibly. "For a second I just thought..."

Rory studied Tristan's face. He looked conflicted, like he didn't know if he wanted to finish his own sentence.

"Thought that what, Matthew was my secret love child?"

"That he was Logan's."

For the second time in two minutes Rory's heart skipped a beat. Tristan was knocking her off guard.

"God no," she managed to say. "My mom remarried. She had me young, remember? And how do you know about me and Logan?"

"Hartford is a small town, Mare. I grew up with him. Your yacht heist is legendary. We all heard about that one, though I have to say, I didn't really believe it at first. Bonnie and Clyde. And then you broke his heart. That has also been much discussed around the poker table."

Broke his heart, she thought. Well it takes two to tango. To Tristan she said: "What are you doing here, anyway," but not unkindly.

"Mental health day," he replied nonchalantly.

"And that took you to Stars Hollow? How did you even find my house?"

"I looked up your address in Carly's Blackberry."

"Why?"

He crossed his legs casually, shifting his weight against the porch railing. "Well I ran into a mutual friend of ours last night."

"Oh yeah?" she asked coolly, not venturing to guess who in the world he could be referring to.

"Yeah. Colin McCrae. He invited me to a poker game at his old buddy Finn's house tonight."

"That does not clarify your presence in the slightest."

"You are going to be my good luck charm."

"I am going to be no such thing," Rory insisted. "Tell Carly to come."

"She left this morning for a trip to Europe."

"Business?"

Tristan hesitated a fraction of a second too long. "Pleasure."

Rory caught the awkward moment, but chose not to comment. Luke's truck pulled into the driveway. His window was down and Rory caught snippets of his bewildered rant about the Porsche in his driveway.

"My parents are home," she said, almost apologetically. She didn't catch her own slip in that sentence.

"Good. Then you are off babysitting duty and can go get ready. I drove all the way out here so I am at least taking you to dinner."

She watched as Luke helped her mother out of the truck. Another night on the couch with them? Or play with fire and accept Tristan's rather presumptuous invitation?

"Just dinner," she said. "Give me ten minutes."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not won Gilmore Girls or any character associated with the show.

Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews. You have no idea how much I really take into consideration your feedback as I write this story. Please keep up the great comments!

Chapter Nine: Poker Face

Rory's ten minute getting ready time frame stretched to twenty-five. Her step father had asked him about the car, hardly succeeding in hiding his contempt. Then he had made an excuse about getting dinner ready and had disappeared into the kitchen where he proceeded to bang pots and pans around quite emphatically.

Lorelai settled into the cushions of the sofa with Matthew against her. He was waking up slowly, lazily.

"He's a true Gilmore," Lorelai said, nodding in her son's direction. "Gilmores wake up at their own speed."

Tristan noted this tidbit of information, unable to suppress the flash of Rory, naked, in his bed, her bright blue eyes opening slowly and settling on him.

To Lorelai he said: "And his bottle is coffee, with just a splash of milk?"

"Shhh," Lorelai said, gesturing dramatically towards the kitchen. "His father hasn't figured that out yet."

Tristan chuckled, mostly just to humor Lorelai.

"So," she said, leadingly. "What exactly do you have in store for my daughter?"

Tristan chose the easier answer. "Oh, you know, grab some food somewhere. Then a friend of mine is having people over for a poker game. He's a friend of Rory's from Yale, I thought she might like to tag along."

"Oh yeah, do I know this friend?"

"His name's Finn. Australian guy, heavy accent."

"Ah yes. I know Finn."

"Good kid," Tristan said vaguely, trying to offset the judgy tone he had caught in Lorelai's voice.

"Well I guess I haven't heard any of those stories, you'll have to fill me in some day."

Tristan didn't know what to say. He looked over at Matthew who was now watching him with both eyes fully open and awake.

"Are those your army guys by the fireplace?" he asked the boy.

Matthew nodded. "Do you want to show them to me?"

Matthew scooted off the couch and sat down by his pile of toys. Tristan sat down on the floor next to him. They played war as the minutes ticked by.

"Sorry, I'm ready now," Rory said, interrupting the machine gun noises Tristan was making. He looked up at her standing in the doorway, leather boots, fishnets, mini skirt, v-neck sweater, soft curls, lipstick. God, she was trying to kill him.

He handed his army toy back to Matthew. "We'll finish another time," he told the boy. He stood up and headed towards Rory.

"You kids have fun, now," Lorelai said, cheerily. "Tristan it was so nice to meet you. Make sure you tell your girlfriend that you're escorting Rory to this party. And Rory, hon, if you bump into Logan at his best friend's house, make sure to ask him about his wife."

"Mom!" Rory said, surprised by her mother's cold words and warm smile.

"Damn these hormones," she said. "That came out all wrong."

"Sure it did. Let's go," Rory said as she pushed Tristan to the front door.

* * *

Tristan had offered to take Rory to dinner in town, but she insisted on getting out of Stars Hollow. So he took the liberty of driving into Hartford, knowing full well that if they were already there it would be easier to convince her to go with him to Finn's.

Their car ride was pretty silent. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. Tristan had given Rory control of his iPod and so she sat, feet up on the dash of his hundred thousand dollar car, but he didn't care. Every few songs she would tell him an anecdote, sometimes about her friend Lane and her various musical escapades, sometimes about seeing the band live. She even went off trying to relate the Chili Peppers to Proust in a line of reasoning that Tristan could not follow but also could not dissuade her from believing in wholeheartedly.

He pulled into a tapas restaurant, Andalucia. The place was very trendy, but it was early and a Thursday, so he figured they'd get a table. And he had been right. So it didn't take long to be seated and sipping a glass of red wine as they waited for their food.

"Can I ask you what that was back there with your mom?" he asked, voicing the question that had been on his mind for nearly an hour now.

Rory sighed and took a long sip from her glass. She put it down and Tristan grabbed the bottle to top it off.

"My mom is not exactly your biggest fan," she said, looking sheepish.

Tristan couldn't suppress a smirk. "You don't say."

Rory smiled softly. "It's not you, though, really. It's me. It's the way I have always been drawn in to the Hartford life she has rejected. It's the trouble I have gotten myself into when I get too deeply involved in that life." She took another sip of wine, but did not continue.

"Trouble?" he asked. "You have been nothing but the prodigal daughter."

"Hello, grand theft boating charge," she said playfully.

"Okay, so there's that," he said.

"And then there's the whole Logan thing. Our relationship was far from the fairy tale I tried to convince my mother it was. She basically thinks I sell myself short when I'm involved in your world."

"Mine?"

Rory looked at him for a moment, really looked at him. Tristan wanted to break eye contact and take a comforting sip of his drink, but he didn't dare.

"She doesn't like that I want to spend time with you when you have a girlfriend."

She's leaving me for a job, and I'm okay with that, he wanted to say. "Why, is she afraid you'll seduce me?" he said, huskily, but with a smirk he hoped she would interpret as being playful.

And she smiled, playing along. "I hope you are wearing a chastity belt. And that you carry a rape whistle."

The waiter appeared with a basket of bread. He had clearly heard Rory's last comment and was struggling to hide the bemused look on his face. He walked away and Tristan and Rory laughed.

"So if you have been raised to reject this life, and you did a very good job in high school, I might add...then what has drawn you to it as an adult?"

Rory grabbed a piece of bread from the basket. She stalled, clearly thinking about his question. After dipping the bread into the olive oil, chewing, swallowing, and sipping some wine she said: "It was Logan, I guess."

"So love turned you towards the finer things in life?"

"No," she said thoughtfully, ripping another piece of her bread. "I had been in love before Logan, and I was happy having a low-key relationship. I guess with Logan, for the first time, I guess I just felt alive. Like I was an active participant in my own life."

She was blushing a little. What had made her blush? What had made her feel alive?

"And what did it take to get Rory Gilmore to stop trying to live vicariously through her books and start experiencing her own life?"

Rory swirled her bread in the olive oil. "So the story that comes to mind, you can't laugh."

"I will try my best."

"One time my grandparents threw me this ridiculous party where they invited all of their Yale Alumni friends and their bachelor sons."

"Get out."

"I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried."

"How old were you?"

"I don't know, I think I was still 19. And the real kicker was I had a boyfriend. They just didn't think Dean was good enough for me, so they were taking it upon themselves to relieve me of him."

Dean. Tristan remembered him. How could he have forgotten? They had still been together after high school? "Typical," he said simply.

Rory nibbled on her bread and continued. "Logan was there. I already knew him from Yale, and to be honest he was already on my radar, even with Dean in my life. And so Logan rescued me from the matchmaking, pulling me into the pool house with Colin and Finn and a bunch of other guys who you probably know. And we drank champagne and laughed at the other guests and planned rebellions against our presuming relatives."

Tristan wasn't really seeing the whole feeling alive thing, but he just refilled their wine glasses and let her continue.

"So then Dean showed up. And he saw all the guys, and my drunk self, and the stupid diamond tiara I was wearing. And he dumped me on the spot."

"Asshole," Tristan muttered.

Rory smiled and shook her head. "I was wearing a diamond tiara, I would have dumped me too. So anyway, Logan just draped his arm around me and steered me back into our little pool house party. And that night I just let go. I had never really let myself have fun before, play drinking games, flirt with boys. And Logan got it. They all did. We were all this little outcast society. Too snobby for the Deans of the world, too down to earth for the preppy guys in my Grandmother's house. He was the first person who got it. And I knew in that moment I wanted to experience life with him, indulge in nice champagne and persue my passions. Adventure, the verb."

The waiter came then, dropping off the first round of tapas they had ordered. The distraction gave Rory a moment to collect herself. Tristan watched her as she shook off some if the emotion that had built up during her story.

He waited until the waiter walked away. "So why aren't you still adventuring with him? What happened?"

She sighed loudly, genuinely. "The practical part of my brain eventually woke up and realized that I needed more than that, that I am wired for more than that."

"And your mom?" he asked, returning to the question that had led them down this path.

"Would rather see me waste away my youth than be that girl again."

"Well Mary," he said. "If there's anything I've learned from my years of frivolous living and the subsequent terms I spent in military school hell, life is about balance."

"That sounds like a toast."

Tristan smirked and held up his glass. "To balance," he said, and clinked his wine against hers.

* * *

**Time: 9:07**

**Alcohol consumption: Two and a half glasses of wine**

**Feeling: Warm, social, and unwilling to go home and ruin a good buzz**

And so of course after a good meal, great chat, and expensive Merlot, when he asked her again about Finn's party, she said of course she would go, that she would like to see her old friends.

"Party's not for another hour though," he said.

"Want to get dessert somewhere?"

"How about here, we could have some more wine?"

She considered it for a second. "I want ice cream. The last one of the summer."

Tristan agreed, paid their bill, and joined her on a walk down the street to an ice cream shop. It was good, but not nearly as good as Taylor's, she thought hazily.

**Time: 10:13**

**Alcohol consumption: Two and a half glasses of wine**

**Feeling: Losing that warm buzz from an hour ago**

She saw him as soon as they walked into the living room. He was seated at one of the three poker tables set up in the large space, his game having already started. Tristan must have picked up on the way she was staring at Logan because he was watching her with a funny expression.

"Well if it isn't the long lost Rory Gilmore," Finn said loudly. He crossed the room in a few easy strides and had Rory in an embrace before she could even respond to his greeting.

"Ah Finn, you remember me, you old softy," she teased, patting him on the back.

"You're hard to forget, kid. Especially with Huntzberger lamenting letting you go every time he gets the drunk sobs." Finn had pulled away and was moving on to shake Tristan's hand. "Dugrey, you old devil."

Rory looked across the room, back towards Logan. He was looking right at her now, no doubt because of Finn's boisterous welcome. She broke eye contact and turned towards Tristan and Finn, desperately fighting the urge to stare at her feet.

Colin had joined the small circle now and he greeted Rory with another warm hug. The boys steered their guests over to the built in bar.

"She's fully stocked, help yourselves. Mi casa es su casa," Colin said.

"Actually Colin, I do believe this is my casa."

"Isn't it your stepmother's name on the mortgage?" Colin retorted.

"Help yourselves," Finn repeated. "There is a fine scotch that I highly recommend. Dugrey, if you want a seat at the second poker table I think a new game is starting in about ten minutes."

"Count me in."

"Rory?"

"I think I'll just watch, thanks."

Colin looked at her skeptically. "Watch? We taught you our best moves, invested hours into your education."

"I'm letting you boys off easy tonight, McCrae. I wouldn't want to crash your boys night and take you for all you're worth."

The boys walked away. "What shall it be, Mary?" Tristan asked, gesturing to the rather impressive collection of bottles behind the bar.

"What are you drinking?

"I might take him up on his scotch offer."

"Gin and tonic," she said after a moment's consideration. "And can you make it heavy on the gin?"

"At your service," he answered, walking around to the other side of the bar to prepare their drinks. "Although the heavy on the gin part may need an explanation."

Rory gave into her urge to stare at her feet, collected herself, and craned her head ever so slightly towards Logan.

"He makes you an alcoholic? No wonder your mother hates him."

"I haven't spoken to him since I told him I couldn't marry him."

"Huh," Tristan said, but he proceeded to pour a generous amount of gin into her glass. He quickly poured his own glass and raised it. He didn't have a toast prepared, just sipped. She did the same.

"Ugh that burns."

"Strong stuff those heavy on the gin and tonics."

"Thank you," she said, reaching over the bar to grab an extra lime.

"Stay close to me tonight, he won't bother you."

She studied his face, saw a shade of determination in his eyes. She simply nodded and squeezed her lime into her drink.

**Time: 10:46**

**Alcohol consumption: Two and a half glasses of wine and one extra gin easy tonic.**

**Feeling: The return of her buzz.**

"Time for a refill," she said, shaking her empty glass. "You boys need anything?"

She got up from Tristan's side at the poker table, took note of the boys' drink requests, and headed towards the bar.

Tristan glanced over towards Logan's game. Sure enough he was watching Rory as she crossed the room. Tristan looked down at his cards. He had a full house. He was fairly certain he had one of the better hands at the table. He decided to stand pat. His eyes returned to Logan. He watched as Logan tipped his head back, finishing off the contents of his glass. He stood, glass in hand, and walked towards the bar.

Rory was busy pouring drinks. She wasn't watching his approach. Tristan debated getting up and backing her up at the bar. Would that just make things worse? Damn. If he had known that things were this unsettled between them then maybe he wouldn't have pushed her to come. Maybe.

He strained to hear what Logan said as he approached, but couldn't hear over the noise of the games. He watched as she reacted to Logan, probably making some witty remark to offset the moment. He wished she hadn't taken his drink for a refill, he needed it in this moment.

And then her eyes flickered towards him and met his own, briefly, almost unnoticeably. But he noticed. And he knew it was time. Damn the game, damn the money in the pot. "Fold," he said abruptly, throwing his cards face down as he walked away from the game, ignoring the protests of the other players.

* * *

She saw him approaching and had a moment of doubt. Logan was just sitting here, making small talk about nothing really. She didn't need backup. But she also didn't want their conversation to change directions and become serious. God, why the hell was she here? She knew he would be here and she came anyway. But she knew, on some sick level she still needed a measure of closure. Not seeing him all these years hadn't been enough to reassure her that she had made the right decision. And yet, she felt completely ill equipped to deal with it now that the opportunity had finally presented itself.

And so, when Tristan slipped behind the bar, she didn't protest as he stood directly behind her, placing his hands on either side of the counter, blocking her in but surrounding her completely. She also didn't protest as he leaned in and whispered and whispered in her ear: "Do you need me?" She even leaned into him a little, momentarily wrapped up in the feeling of his warm breath on her neck.

She put a hand over his on the counter. "Logan, you know Tristan, right?"

"AYSO soccer teammates from '90 to '97," he said, smiling that Logan smile, the polite one. "How's it going, man?"

Tristan leaned over the bar to shake Logan's offers hand. As he did so, he pressed a little harder against Rory. Even when he withdrew his hand, he didn't back away. Again, she didn't stop him.

"Can't complain," Tristan answered.

"Where's Carly tonight?" Logan asked, looking Rory dead in the eyes. "She's usually your good luck charm."

"Doing her own thing in Germany," he responded, not missing a beat.

Logan studied Tristan for a moment, then turned his attention to Rory. "That's funny," he said, the smile back on his face now.

Rory didn't dare ask, but Tristan bit the bait. "What?"

Logan reached for the scotch. "You never let go of the fact that I had sex with some of my sister's friends. And now you're no different than them. But the real ironic part of the story is that I was never a fucking cheater." He poured the liquor into his glass and took a swig. He looked pointedly at Rory. "Tell Carly I say hi."

* * *

Logan walked straight past his poker table and out of the room. He didn't stop until he reached the far end of the house, an office of some sort. He didn't bother to look for a light switch. He needed a minute in the dark.

That wasn't how he had wanted it to go, seeing Rory. He had told himself long ago, after that one night he had blubbered to his friends that he missed her (a night they never let him live down), that she had walked away, he hadn't fought for her to stay, and so it was over.

Contrary to popular belief, he was not in love with her anymore. He wasn't someone who let people walk all over him. And holding a candle for a girl who rejected him equalled being walked all over, in his book anyway.

But damn Dugrey. His arm around her, acting like she was his. He could see in her eyes that Tristan's caveman move had surprised her. He hadn't intended to lose it like that. But Finn's scotch was strong. It had gone to his head. Much like Rory always managed to do.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters associated with the show.

Chapter Ten: A Little Gambling is Fun When You're with Me

**Time: 10:51**

**Alcohol consumption: two and a half glasses of wine, one extra gin easy tonic**

**Feeling: not nearly drunk enough to handle this**

"Let me go," Rory said, nudging Tristan's arms that were holding her captive at the bar. He complied, taking a step back. She stormed off, heading out to the backyard through the large French doors at the far end of the room.

It was cold outside, but the cold felt good. It was still, calming. Her mind was racing with anger and humiliation. Everyone was right. What the hell was she doing?

She sat on a stone bench. The cold seeped into her skin but she ignored it. She heard the door open and close and then Tristan was standing over her. He passed her a fresh drink and sat down next to her.

"It's an extra extra gin easy tonic."

She took a sip. "That's disgusting."

"But it will numb whatever is going on in your head right now."

She looked up at him. The glow from the house cast a dim light on his face. "What are we doing Tristan? I mean, why pick me up tonight?"

Tristan sighed. "He was trying to get to you, Rory. Ignore him. Nothing has happened here that warrants you feeling guilty about his words, and you know that."

She shook her head and looked at her feet. Maybe not with you, she wanted to say. She sipped her glass of glorified Pine Sol.

They sat in silence for what felt like a long time. Tristan finished his drink first. "I'm sorry I brought you here," he said at last. "I didn't know..."

Rory shook her head. "I knew. And he had every right to be mad I showed up here tonight."

"Come on, Rory. That's-"

"He's right, Tristan. About all of it." She grimaced as she took another sip of her drink.

"You cheated on him?"

She studied him for a moment. He seemed to be completely missing her point. "No. Not at all. When the opportunity presented itself I found myself completely incapable of betraying him."

Another sip.

He sat for a minute, rolling his empty glass between his hands. He seemed like he was calculating his next move. "Carly is at a job interview for German Style Watch, probably as we speak, actually."

What was he saying to her? "So what does that mean, exactly?"

"I'm not stopping her."

"Right, but-"

"Dugrey! Next hand is being dealt and we need you to sit in this time," Colin said, appearing in the doorway.

"Next round."

"None of that shit now."

"I'll play," Rory said.

"Excellent." Colin opened the door wider for them to pass. She tossed back the rest of her drink, stood and handed her glass to Tristan, ignoring the frustrated look on his face.

"More Pine Sol, please."

**Time: 12:37**

**Alcohol Consumption: Two and a half glasses of wine, one extra gin easy tonic, two (or was it three?) extra extra gin easy tonics**

**Feeling: Sharp**

The poker game was drawn out. She played against Tristan, Colin, and Finn, as well as two other guys she had never met before but had noticed that Tristan greeted very coolly. Throughout the game, Rory had pieced together enough snarky remarks from Finn and Colin to deduce that the strangers had taken them for just about all they were worth in the last game. Now, as time ticked on, she could tell that Colin and Finn were relying on her to get their money back.

The stakes were high, higher than in college. But then again, everyone had made themselves that much wealthier in the last three years. Everyone, that is, except for Rory. In college, when they boys had been teaching her, they never made her pay her share. It was ungentlemanly, they would say. They also wouldn't allow Logan to pay her debts, That's just shooting fish in the barrel, Colin had said. By the time she was good enough to start winning their trust fund money out from under them, they had established a system of paying through deeds. Not good ones, mind you. More like pranks, favors, and grand gestures.

Tonight there were over then thousand dollars in the pot. "I'll spot you," Tristan had offered as they sat down.

"She's at my table by my invite. I'll spot her, if it comes to that," Colin said with a sly wink in Rory's direction.

"He seems to think you know what you're doing," Tristan said as he took his own seat beside Rory.

She smiled what she hoped was a coy one. "I never fail."

And so the game had commenced with Finn dealing. Rory found herself lost in the distraction she had accepted. Sitting here with these boys reminded of her of her carefree college years. The game provided a distraction to focus her sharp mind. Tristan was nearby, a presence she couldn't help but feel reassured by. She was relieved that they weren't out there on the patio, discussing whatever it was he had been trying to tell her when Colin had interrupted.

She held her liquor better than Colin or Finn. Or maybe they were just drunker. They folded quickly. Next was the blonde stranger. The game continued for a bit between Tristan, Rory, and the brown haired stranger. Tristan, with a mischievous look on his face, folded soon after. As he vacated his seat he whispered, "You've got him, Mare."

**Time: 12:52**

**Alcohol consumption: A lot**

**Feeling: feelingsy**

About fifteen more minutes passed, tensely for those watching. Rory could feel the group that had gathered around the table although she didn't dare to turn around and look.

When the time came to show her cards she was nervous. She only had a flush. She bared them, trying not to show her nerves. A straight. A measly straight. She had won.

* * *

She was out of her seat. People were patting her on the back. Finn traipsed over, grabbed her face between his hands, and gave her a big smacking kiss on the lips. "Colin and I owe you a major gift basket to show our gratitude," he said.

Tristan watched as she looked for him among all the faces. God he wanted her to come to him, to make the first move. She was already so incredibly sexy, holding her own against those sharks. He had eventually thrown in his own hand just so that he could concentrate his attention on watching her play.

It didn't take long. Her eyes found his, lingered, and she turned away. She was walking away, actually, slipping past the drunken boys surrounding the poker table. He wanted to follow her. But he hesitated. And then she glanced, briefly, over her shoulder in his direction. He tossed back the rest of his drink and followed her.

* * *

She had led him up the stairs to a quiet hallway. She stopped, as if examining a painting on the wall. When she turned, his arms were already around her.

"Tristan," she exhaled. It sounded like a warning, but he ignored it. He kissed her, pushing her body backwards until he had her pinned against the wall. Her response was immediate. It was tentative, but a response nonetheless.

"Tristan," she said again, more sharply this time. A hand on his chest pushed him away, creating space where he wanted nothing but physical contact.

"What, did I bite your lip or something?" he quipped.

That elicited a soft smile on those lips he wanted more of. So he indulged himself, this time tugging her bottom lip between his teeth. She whimpered. The sound almost undid him completely.

"You liked that." He asked, moving his lips across her face.

"Tristan..."

Nibbled her earlobe.

"Maybe you shouldn't have run all those years ago." The sweet spot on her neck. Her hand, still on his chest curled, clenching a fistful of his shirt. He moved next to her collarbone.

"Tristan," she said firmly, pushing him away again.

"Rory." Collarbone's not a favorite, he noted to himself.

"I'm drunk."

Of all of the things she could have said to him in that moment, that one seemed the most arbitrary. "So am I."

She shook her head. "I have daddy issues."

He laughed at that one. "So do I."

"Yeah, but mine make me make very bad choices."

"Everyone in this house suffers from the same affliction." He took a step closer but she stopped him again with her hand.

"You took off your ring."

Maybe she was too drunk. "I don't wear rings."

"It's a metaphor."

"For?"

"Dean."

He took a step back on his own this time, the name catching him off balance. He studied her face, really looking at her. She looked completely torn up by some emotion, and it wasn't lust.

"Dare I ask?" he ventured, feeling his head clear slowly.

Heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. He and Rory both craned their heads in the general direction, but the hallway was dark and it was difficult to see. She surprised him by taking him by the hand and pulling him into a nearby room, a bedroom he noted, once she had turned on the lights.

This was like his fantasy being played out in a parallel universe, where everything was just slightly off kilter.

He sat on the bed, waiting. She paced, tugging at the sleeves of her sweater, betraying her nerves.

"Logan was right. About me. And I never even told him, he just sees through me, I guess."

Tristan's sluggish brain, thick with scotch, slowly rewound through the events of the evening. Logan had accused them of cheating.

"I'm sorry I kissed you...that's my bad, not yours." He felt like the occasion called for the apology, even though every cell of his body was still screaming to try to pick up where they had left off.

"It's not just that. It's...God!"

Something was clearly eating at her. It was on the tip of her tongue on the patio and it needed to come out now, Tristan decided. He stood up, placed his hands on her shoulder, and pushed her gently so that she was the one sitting on the bed. This seemed to calm her. He remained standing, waiting.

"I always do this," she said, tears gathering quickly now.

"Become a sad drunk?" he teased.

"Cheat, ruin relationships, betray people I care about." She let out a sob and burried her head in her hands.

Skeptically, Tristan pressed: "How many people have you cheated on?"

"Two."

"You had sex with someone else while dating Dean and Logan?"

She looked up at him through blurry eyes with a look of pure annoyance. "You're not listening to me," she sobbed.

Tristan, giving up on figuring out her drunken tale, crossed his arms and said: "Well then, explain it to me."

She took a steadying breath. "I hurt everyone who comes along. I have almost never gone into or out of a relationship honestly. Dean and I ended not long after I kissed Jess. Jess broke off his relationship to be with me. After that ended I had sex with Dean, effectively ending his marriage. But then I started to fall for Logan. And I went to Jess, hoping to have sex with him but could only kiss him to piss Logan off. And now I'm here, kissing you, and trying very hard not to be that girl again."

Tristan processed her story for a moment. "Your logic is full of holes."

The look of tear-stained annoyance was back on her face. "What?"

"Your logic, it's flawed. Ok so by my count you have "cheated" on two guys, Dean and Logan, but not sex just kissing. Not your finer moments, but I'm assuming that, because of your self-proclaimed daddy issues, you acted out, returned to your guy, and never told him."

"I don't see how my daddy issues play into that one."

"Am I right?"

"More or less," she conceded. "It doesn't change the fact that it was a sucky thing to do."

"Now this Jess guy dumping that girlfriend can't be something you genuinely feel bad about. I bet she was around just to get your attention. Sound about right?"

"Something like that." Sniffle.

"You can't control what other people do. Which leads me back to Dean. You ended his marriage? Did you break up with her for him?"

"Well, no, but I had sex with him."

"Did you force him to have sex with you?"

That annoyed look again. "Obviously not."

"You can't control what other people do," he repeated, sitting down on the bed next to her. "The sooner you get that, the freer you will be. From all of life's crap."

She sniffled. "But Tristan, I can control myself. I should have walked away from Dean. I've learned that now. And I have tried damned hard to be the kind of girl who doesn't fall into that pattern. And now..." she looked up at him.

And now he was dragging her right back into it. She had tried to stay away lately and he had gone to her house, bringing her right into this situation.

"I want you, Rory. I want to be with you. I wanted you when we were sixteen and I want you now, for so many more reasons. Those guys, that shit that they did to be with you...you were worth the gamble."

She held his look, her eyes drier now but heavy with sadness.

"You might want me, Tristan, but you are in a relationship with Carly. No matter what we played at tonight, you are hers."

"She's taking a job in Germany."

Rory shook her head. "You told me that already! It's the damned ring."

He was getting frustrated now. She wasn't listening to what he was telling her. "Why do you keep saying that? What the fuck does that mean?"

"All Dean had to do was take off his wedding ring, and I gave him my virginity, no questions asked. He didn't leave her for months. He put the fucking ring back on when we were done, and walked back home to her bed."

She took a breath. "You telling me Carly wants a job abroad is not the same as you telling me it's already over."

"It will be but-"

"Jesus, Tristan!" she said, bouncing up off the bed. "You know what? If you want me so bad, then you should want for me to not have to sacrifice some hard learned lessons in order to be with you. And you know what?"

"What?" he asked, stupidly.

"No one has ever been decent enough to want to do right by me, all of the time. No one. Not one of those guys you claim 'gambled everything' because I'm so worthy. They've all caused me to jeopardize the important things in my life. And now, I'm adding you to that list."

She opened the door, presumably for him to leave. His feathers were ruffled now. He got up, crossed the room in three easy strides, and slammed the door closed. He was inches away from her.

"Stop playing the victim, Rory. You've made mistakes with me too. Our connection? It's chemical. You want to fuck me as bad as I want to fuck you and that terrifies you. Why? You're not that doe eyed teenager in her school girl uniform anymore. There's no moral police here. You can't pin this all on me just to take the high ground."

Her chest was heaving, sucking in deep, steadying breaths of air. He felt his own breath coming quickly. Her eyes were heavy, unreadable, but dangerous. He didn't back down and neither did she. He restrained the urge to kiss her, screw her right there against the door, make her say that she needed him, too.

She reached over and opened the door again. This time when he slammed it closed he found himself alone in the dark hallway.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own GIlmore Girls or any character associated with the show.

Author's Note: Thanks for putting up with the long hiatus! Summer has slowed down my writing a bit, but I should get several chapters up this week.

Chapter Eleven: Aftermath

"Rory..."

What was that?

"Rory..."

Her name pulled her from her sleep slowly. Who could possibly be calling her name? And where was she?

"Rory!"

"Fuck off, Tristan," she mumbled. Wait, Tristan. Why was he back in here? She had kicked him out just a few minutes ago.

"It's 6 a.m. I have to drive you home if you want to make it to work on time."

She cracked one eye open, disbelievingly. But sure enough, the faintest light was peeking in through the blinds on the window.

"No work, wrong day," she said, closing her eye again and wishing he would disappear.

"It's Friday."

"No."

"You spent half of dinner telling me about the vapid assignment you need to cover at the office today. Come on. Get up or we will both be very late."

Oh God, the Spring clothing lines were coming in today and she was supposed to live tweet as the staff reacted to unpacking the new trends. She didn't want to get up and face Tristan. She didn't want to face a car ride home with him. She especially didn't want to go to work. But she didn't have much of a choice.

Wordlessly, she sat up, rubbed her eyes, and swung her legs off the bed she had fallen asleep on. She focused on locating and pulling on her boots while wondering where Tristan had spent the night. God, her head hurt.

Tristan waited for her in the doorway, watching her. She grabbed her bag and headed to the door. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Don't even," she warned and pushed past him, leading the way downstairs. They tiptoed through the living room where several bodies were passed out. The front door creaked angrily when she pulled it open, but she didn't look back to see if anyone stirred.

The driveway was full of fine cars. Thankfully Tristan's Porsche wasn't blocked in. Tristan unlocked his car by remote and she sank into the passenger seat. Rory flipped down the visor to look in the mirror. She was a mess. She wiped under her eyes, trying to rub off some of the smudged makeup. Then she fished through her purse to find a hair tie to pull her hair back into a pony tail. She watched as Tristan climbed into the driver's seat. His shirt was a little wrinkled, but other than that he hadn't betrayed a sign of any lingering effects of the last night's revelries.

"Are you okay to drive?" she blurted out.

He smirked at her. "You outdrank me two to one, Mare."

She scowled at him.

Tristan started the car and backed out of the driveway. They drove through the neighborhood in silence. As much as she had drank, Rory had a clear memory of her argument with Tristan. She was still angry. She could admit to herself that he was right about some of it, well, most of it maybe. Like the parts about her wanting him. But he had no right to call her a victim, not when she was trying to just be a decent human being.

The residential streets turned into busier roads. Rory spotted a sign for the I-84 onramp. Tristan pulled into the right hand lane at the stop light. He turned on his blinker.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you home."

"You're getting on the highway."

"Right. Because I'm taking you home."

"There's no coffee on the highway," she said, speaking to him as if he were a silly child.

"Get a coffee at home. Or the train station."

She fixed him with a cold stare. "Oh no. Not an option. I need coffee now. I can't wait a half hour."

"Withdrawals kick in?"

"Yes! And I already have enough of a headache from your gin concoctions. "

"They have twelve-step programs that help junkies."

"Go straight, there's a Dunkin Donuts down the road. It's Satan, their coffee is crap, but it will do in a pinch."

To her relief, the light turned green and he went straight.

"Did you see Finn this morning?" He asked, changing the subject.

"What was on his face?"

"His losses written in Sharpie."

She grunted, indicating her disgust. "Why?"

"Well, last night after we-" he cast a quick look in her direction. "After you went to bed, things got pretty heated downstairs between some of the guys. I guess they didn't believe Finn would pay up. So after he passed out they decided to humiliate him a bit with their permanent marker artwork."

"Typical," she responded.

Tristan pulled into the drivethru of the Dunkin Donuts. It was early so they seemed to be ahead of the rush.

"A large black with two Turbo shots," she mumbled to Tristan as she cradled her head against the window.

"Two? You'll get holes in your stomach."

"Show me some cold hard data and I'll change my order."

"I don't keep files on espresso in my glove compartment."

"Then mind your own beeswax."

"Welcome to Dunkins. How can I help you?" blared the voice in the intercom. Rory noticed Tristan wince at the harsh noise. Selfishly, she felt smug that he had cracked and shown his first sign of hangover weakness.

"Yeah, hi. Two large coffees, black with two Turbo shots each. And two bagels, plain, no cream cheese."

"Hey!" she cried softly.

He smirked at her in return. "I'm not letting you go down by yourself."

_There's no moral police here_, he had said last night. _You can't pin this all on me just to take the high ground._

He held her gaze a moment too long, his smirk fading. Was he remembering last night too? He pulled his attention back to the drivethru. He pulled up to the window, paid, and handed Rory her coffee and a bagel.

"I don't need the bagel."

"Eat it," he said gently.

"Really."

"Come on."

"I'm fine."

"Rory..."

"I don't need the damn bagel!" she snapped.

He pulled out of the parking lot, quiet. Rory sipped her coffee. The silence was deafening. Tristan turned on the radio. It was tuned to a morning show that Rory particularly hated. She took the liberty to reach over and change the station. She eyed Tristan, gauging his reaction.

He stayed focused on the road. "Were you listening last week when they prank called that guy and he ended up confessing that he was cheating on his wife?"

Rory sipped her warm brew. "Yeah, and in the background you could hear the wife swearing at him. I don't know why they didn't cut to a commercial."

"Are you kidding me? That was ratings gold," Tristan said. He reached into the fastfood bag and grabbed his bagel.

"That's like a few weeks ago when they called the guy who ended up totally being some kind of drug lord..."

"Oh yeah, " Tristan said, his mouth full of bagel. "That was so sketchy. They hung up on that guy."

"Definitely a liability."

"And they haven't mentioned it since."

"Hey, you know what would go really good with this coffee," she asked.

"What?" he responded, somewhat wary.

"That bagel."

Tristan shot her a look of complete disdain. But he handed her the bagel. She got to work eating it happily.

"Look, Ror," he said slowly as they approached the turnoff for Stars Hollow. "I know you have work today. What I told you last night about Carly and the job in Germany...you're not supposed to know."

"I won't say anything at work, if that's what you mean," she responded.

He nodded. "I don't know what is even going to happen."

Rory studied him for a moment. He kept his eyes glued to the road, avoiding her. What was he referring to? Carly's actual interview? His relationship with her? His relationship with Rory?

She chose not to ask. It was better not to go down that path. She balled up the wax paper from her bagel and tossed it into the empty paper bag.

"Rory..."

"What?" she asked, feeling very tired again all of a sudden.

"About last night..."

"No, Tristan-"

"I know that I need to-"

"Tristan-"

"And Carly and I have-"

"Tristan! STOP."

He shut his mouth and glanced at her quickly, before turning his attention back to the road.

"We're done seeing each other, Tristan," Rory said. "We both know that we can't be friends. So from now on, whatever happens to Carly and her career, whatever it is that we are doing here is done."

They were turning on to her street, then they were in her driveway. He parked.

"I don't want to be done," he said gently.

She held his gaze for a moment, before unbuckling her seat belt and opening her door.

"Wait!" he said, reaching out and putting a hand on her arm.

She shot him a dangerous look.

"I have your poker winnings," he said simply.

"Keep it. I don't want their money."

She closed the door and disappeared into the house.

* * *

Tristan couldn't focus on his meeting. He hadn't been able to focus on much of anything, other than his blinding headache. To be honest, he couldn't tell if it was the hangover or the searing pain of Rory's rejection that was causing this persistent ache behind his eyes.

So that hadn't gone according to plan. Not that he'd had a plan, exactly. But what he had been imagining the past few weeks never ended with Rory slamming both a bedroom and a car door in his face. Never had he imagined that when he told her that he and Carly were over that she wouldn't take his word. Nor had he thought that her moral compass would not only put the breaks on all of the things he had wanted to do to her in that bedroom but also make him question his own actions.

He checked his phone under the table as McMillan droned on about expenditures. Carly hadn't contacted him today. He knew he needed to call her, talk to her, figure out once and for all where they stood. But the thought of that made his headache roar to the forefront of his mind. He knew he wanted to have sex with Rory. And he knew that he wanted her for more than sex. She had challenged him mentally, verbally, and sexually since they had met as teenagers. And it seemed to grow every time they saw each other. He knew he wouldn't stop chasing Rory until he got a taste of having her in his life, making her his completely. But there was a history there with Carly that he couldn't ignore. Years together that made Tristan nothing better than a filthy cad for the way he had been pining for Rory.

He sank deeper into his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket. Now wasn't the time to worry about his romantic endeavors, he decided. He should really listen to the expenditures report.

* * *

Somehow, painfully, the day passed. Rory made it into the city on time. She made it through the boring assignment. She even made it through an office baby shower at lunch in only minimal distress. Carly had been on her mind all day. If Carly truly left _Images_, it would mean a major reshuffling of staff. At the shower luncheon, Rory looked around at the other women who were working below Carly.

It was obvious that Chelsea Cosgroves was a shoe-in for Carly's position. No one else was nearly as experienced. And then that position would be open. Who would fight for that spot? Rory searched the room. Beauty was an in demand department. Many girls would love to transfer into it.

Jaqueline O'Riley. Pop Culture Editor. She was sidling up to the Beauty Department girls like Rory had never seen before. Of course she would want her foot in the door. She would willingly work Chelsea's job.

Rory thought about her own future at _Images. _She liked her colleagues. She enjoyed working in the city, even if it meant the commute. If she tried to compete for a full-time position, she would be able to afford to live in the city again, even in something very modest. It wasn't exactly world-class investigative journalism that she would be working on, and she didn't love fashion, but she could see herself trying to slide into an open position in the Pop Culture department. Writing reviews on best sellers, movies, and CDs wasn't out of her comfort range. And every so often a Pop Culture team member collaborated on feature interviews.

Rory grabbed another Bellini and crossed the party to go make nice to the Pop Culture team.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any character associated with the show.

Chapter Twelve: The Files

By one o'clock, Tristan couldn't bear to sit in the boardroom any longer. He excused himself from the presentation, although he was the one being presented to. His employees exchanged looks as Tristan walked out of the room. He knew they were murmurring about him, probably complaining about the amount of work that had gone into the presentation. Which was a valid complaint. But right now, it was impossible to follow protocol and stare at excell sheets of numbers.

He closed the door to his private office and sank into his desk chair. The leather cushions hissed softly as he leaned forward and grabbed the phone. Steeling himself, he punched in Carly's number before he could chicken out.

It rang three times. He allowed himself to hope that she would miss the call. But in the middle of the fourth and final ring, she picked up.

"Hey," she said, sounding preoccupied.

"Hey," he responded.

There was background noise and he could hear Carly's muffled voice talking to someone on the other end. "Sorry," her voice said, coming in clearly through the receiver. "I was talking to the taxi driver. What's up?"

"Just calling to check in," he responded simply. He took a breath. "How was your interview?"

"Well, I don't know really. Good, I think. But I won't find out for at least a week."

"Did the job appeal to you?"

He could almost hear her roll her eyes on the other end. "Of course, that's why I flew out here to interview for it," she retorted.

He hated that tone of hers. "I meant, did you like the offices and stuff? Was it what you had imagined?"

"Yeah," she said vaguely. There was a long pause. "I'm going to take it if it is offered to me."

"And if it isn't?"

"Well, I'll come back to New York and figure out my next move. You know I feel stuck. I can't stay there forever."

Tristan knew that she was referring to her job, she was always complaining about the lack of potential upward mobility in her office. But the word _stuck_ ricocheted through his brain. They were stuck. And he wanted to be unstuck. He had been wanting to be unstuck for months, years maybe. And his desire to do the right thing always held him back. But what was the right thing? Them marrying? Having a marriage that had used up its intimacy in their college days?

"I'm done, Carly."

Another long pause.

"Look," she said evenly. "I get that the prospect of me moving to Germany means a huge shift in our relationship. But we both work so much already. We can totally do long distance, rack up some frequent flier miles-"

"What are you fighting for?" he asked.

"I just think that a little space wouldn't be bad for us," she responded simply.

"I don't think there really is an us anymore."

There was a lethal silence. Finally she said: "We have been in a relationship for over five years. We live together. How can you think there is no us?"

"We're roommates!" he cried out. "We are friends who live together. We don't have sex anymore. We don't make time for each other...we've allowed ourselves to become these workaholics and part of me thinks that we do it so that we don't have to come home and face the fact that the spark between us died years ago!"

"Fucking hell, Tristan. I don't want to talk to you about our sexual problems while I'm in a fucking cab!" she spat back.

"It's now or never, Carly."

"Fine," she said. "You think life is about spark? You think that people sustain the spark for fifty year marriages? Then fine. Go off and go back to your playboy ways and have fun seeking sexual thrills."

"This isn't about anyone else-"

"Oh really?" she snapped. "You're little night out with Rory is all over Facebook. So don't even."

Tristan scratched his chin, absently noticing how thick his stubble was growing in today. God, he was a mess. And Carly knew it from thousands of miles away.

"Nothing happened with Rory."

"Oh yeah? There was no _spark?"_

"What do you want me to say Carly? That I want to fuck her? Do you really want to hear me say that?"

"Well you basically just did-"

"You don't want me!" he yelled, oblivious to the fact that he was at work, and there were dozens of nosy ears just outside his door.

"Of course-"

"Cut the bullcrap, Carly. If you wanted me, really wanted me, the way someone who is committed to building a life with a man wants him, then you wouldn't have taken a job interview abroad without talking to me about it. You wouldn't have pulled away from me physically. You wouldn't be dangling Rory under my nose like she was some kind of bait."

"You asked me to give her the job."

"But she kept popping into my life by your invitation."

A long moment passed with nothing but dead air between them. "So who's the victim here, Tristan?"

He sighed. "Don't make it like that," he said. "If we stayed together, this would only be the beginning of a long life of playing games. I know, I've seen my parents do it my whole life. Is that what you want? To keep me around just to fuck with my head?"

"No."

"We're not right for each other, Carly. I loved you, I did. We were so perfect on paper. But then we grew up."

"You haven't made me happy in a long time," she conceded.

Tristan closed his eyes. He let the silence sit between them for a minute or so. "I'll have my things out of the apartment by the time you get back to the States."

"Fine."

"Good luck with the job, Carly."

"Thanks," she said coolly, and disconnected the line.

* * *

Rory stood at her grandparent's front door hating the fact that she had agreed to come over for Friday night dinner. She didn't feel hungover anymore. Burying herself in work had helped her forget last night, and this morning. But the two hour commute home left her with nothing to do but think about everything that had happened between her and Tristan in the past twenty-four hours.

What echoed in her mind the most was his simple _I don't want to be done._ And as much as she had fought to keep him away last night, she didn't want to be done either.

Inevitably, the doorbell opened and the maid ushered Rory inside. Her grandparents greeted her with their usual warmth. Richard mixed her a drink. Emily initiated small talk about work. Rory floated through the beginning of cocktail hour on autopilot, Tristan's words still at the forefront of her mind.

"So, Rory," Emily said, changing topics and pulling her granddaughter's attention to the moment at hand. "We have invited you here with an ulterior motive."

_Shocking,_ Rory thought, her heart skipping a beat.

"Richard do you have the files?"

"No, Emily, they are in my study."

"We were supposed to be prepared!"

"We are prepared. They just happen to be where I do my preparations."

"Well go get them so that we can begin!"

Rory watched as Richard hurried off to his office to obtain the files in question. She sipped her gin martini slowly, preparing herself for whatever was to come. She wished her mother were here.

Richard sat back down and gave Emily a nod. She smiled and began. "Well, as I'm sure you're aware, your twenty sixth birthday is right around the corner."

Rory nodded. She sipped.

"You may not be aware that your trust fund matures on your twenty sixth birthday."

Emily paused dramatically. Rory blinked. "My what?"

"Your trust fund." She studied her granddaughter. "Why do you look so surprised? Surely you knew that we had prepared a trust fund for you?"

Rory opened her mouth and shut it again, truly speechless. "Well, no Grandma-I mean, you guys never…" She looked down at her martini glass as if the olive would give her the words she needed.

"Richard, fix Rory another drink, please. I do believe we have shocked the poor thing."

Richard chuckled. He happily grabbed Rory's glass and set to work making the drink.

"I could have sworn this had come up over the years," Emily said, sipping her own drink. "I feel dreadful that I caught you so off guard."

Rory eyed her grandmother. She looked completely pleased with herself. Rory accepted her fresh drink from her grandfather and took a long sip. That seemed to fortify her.

"What exactly are the terms of this trust fund?" she asked, skeptical.

"I have the most recent statement right here," Richard answered. He picked up the file he had just retrieved from his study. He moved so that he was sitting next to Rory on the sofa. Emily joined him on Rory's other side. Richard opened the folder and passed it to Rory.

She took a deep breath and looked at the balance. There were seven figures. Seven. Her head started swimming. She took another sip of her martini.

"Now, we started this when you were born," Richard explained. "Your mother refused hers, so we added those funds to your account."

Rory nodded absently at her grandfather.

Emily chimed in. "Then when you refused the donation to the Yale building, we added that money to your account as well."

"It's a bit of a hodgepodge," Richard said jovially. Emily laughed.

Rory blinked. "I don't know what to say," she said stupidly. "Thank you?"

"Ah well, the pleasure is all ours, my dear girl," Richard said warmly, patting her on her knee.

"Shouldn't some of this go to Mom?"

"Your mother?" Emily snorted. "You know she would rather die than accept our money."

Rory flipped through the pages of the file. "Then what about Matthew, or the new baby?"

Emily sobered a little. She put down her cocktail and turned to her granddaughter. "Rory, we love your brother and will love your new sister. But being a part of your life, your education, your _family_ has meant more to your grandfather and I than you will ever know."

Emily sniffled and used her cocktail napkin to dab at the corner of her eyes. Rory watched her, somehow managing to feel even more stunned than a moment before.

"Your grandfather and I are not fools," Emily continued. "We know that we will never have the same opportunity to be close with our new grandchildren."

Rory opened her mouth to protest, but Emily cut her off. "You know it is true. Your mother will never want anything from us, the way she needed us when you were a teenager. I know there will be Christmases and Easters…" she dabbed again at her eyes.

"What your grandmother is trying to say," Richard said, picking up Emily's train of thought, "is that there will be money for your siblings. Just like there will be an inheritance for your mother. But you are our dear girl, and we want to continue to watch you take life by the horns. And it seems like you are in a point in your life where you need a little help."

"I'll be fine-"

Richard shook his head firmly. "This money has always been yours," he said. "You will just now have access to it starting in about a month."

Rory, completely overwhelmed by the figures in the folder, by her breakdown with Tristan last night, by her grandparent's kind words, put her head in her hands and started to cry.

* * *

Rory, to her grandparent's total delight, had made her way through dinner punctuating the meal with little hiccuping sobs. Her grandparents were through the moon that she was so _touched_ by their gift.

Really though, Rory wasn't entirely sure she could accept the money. She just hadn't been able to form the words to express that at dinner. What was she going to do with several million dollars? The thought made her want to throw up, and it wasn't from excitement.

She had excused herself as soon as dessert had ended. But she couldn't go home. SHe wasn't ready to face her mother and explain the recent change in her financial situation. She couldn't walk into that house and say "Hey! I'm an heiress!" and then settle into her regular routine. On the bright side, the little devil on her shoulder countered, now she could afford to move out.

Her head swimming, Rory drove aimlessly around the dark streets of Hartford until she found herself in a seedy part of the city. She clicked the lock button on the doors, and turned her car around. She needed a destination. The first place that popped into mind was the little bar that she used to go to with Logan when she lived in the pool house. She turned the car and headed for a night cap.

* * *

Tristan headed out of the city. He had left work shortly after his phone call to Carly. It was clear that there was no work to be done that afternoon. So he had made good on his promise and headed to his apartment to pack up his stuff.

Most of what he owned was now in the small trunk of his Porsche. The rest he had already arranged to be picked up by a professional moving company. He had gotten on the highway and turned towards Connecticut without even thinking about it. He didn't want to spend a night in a hotel. He wanted to go home. Even if that meant his parent's empty house in Hartford.

But after opening up the empty house and dropping his stuff off in his childhood bedroom, he realized he couldn't sit still in the deafening silence. So he got in his car once again and headed to the only bar downtown that wasn't full of pretentious suits.

He saw her almost the second he walked in. She was by herself at the bar. And he felt like something missing clicked into place.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters affiliated with the show.

Chapter Thirteen: The Shoe Box

She turned around, almost as if she sensed him walking into the bar. But of course, that is ridiculous, he told himself.

He slipped his keys into his trouser pocket and crossed the semi-crowded room to her seat at the bar. He had no idea what she was doing there. He just knew that he was relieved to see her.

As he got closer, he noticed that her eyes were rimmed with red. She had been crying. In that moment he loved her startling, sad eyes. He caught the word as it flitted through his mind so easily. _Loved._ He didn't flinch away from the idea. Instead, he acknowledged the emotion as a truth that he had kept buried within himself for a while now.

Xxx

She watched from the corner of her eye as he slipped onto the barstool next to hers.

"Hey," he said simply.

"Hay is for horses," she responded. She kept her eyes on her drink, embarrassed. She didn't want him to see that she had been crying. Not because she was ashamed to cry in front of him-she had crossed that bridge last night. No, she knew that she was exploiting her female prerogative to be completely irrational, and she didn't know if she wanted him to take that on right now.

But she must not have been that good at hiding it because before she knew it he had his finger crooked under her chin and he was turning her face to his. She met his eyes begrudgingly.

"Tell me what's wrong," he commanded gently.

She closed her eyes and smiled an ironic little smile as she shook her head no. "I found out today that I am a millionairess."

She turned her eyes back to him in time to catch the little jolt of surprise that flashed across his face.

"And you're crying about that?" he asked. His tone was teasing but it was a completely logical question.

She laughed a little. "I think it was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back." She sniffled. It wasn't incredibly ladylike, but she didn't care anymore.

"Yeah, I guess you have been thrown a few curveballs in the last twenty four hours," he conceded.

"Yours I can handle," she answered, tossing her hair a little.

He smirked. "So that last night was you handling it?"

"Hey, I had it all under control."

"Hindsight is always 20/20."

She smiled what she hoped to be a coy smile and sipped her martini.

"Gin?" he asked her, pointing to the drink. She nodded. "Hair of the dog?"

"It's what my grandparents always make me when I go to Friday night dinners. I didn't think it was a good idea to mix alcohols tonight."

Tristan nodded and caught the attention of the bartender. "A gin martini for the lady and a scotch on the rocks for me please."

He turned back to her. "So I'm assuming you had dinner with your grandparents?"

She nodded, then sighed. "They informed me that the trust fund I never knew I had is going to be at my disposal on my twenty sixth birthday."

"Which is…?"

"In three weeks."

"And it has seven figures?" he asked.

"$3,485,672 to be exact."

"Shit." He reached for his drink that the bartender had just put down. "That's not too shabby."

"Nope," she responded simply.

He sipped. She finished her drink and reached for the one Tristan had just bought her.

"So do you want to explain why you are crying about it?"

"What the hell do I do with all of that money?"

"Well, I mean...not to impugn your rather sizable fortune, but...It's not like you're Bill Gates or anything. You could blow 3 million in a weekend if you tried hard enough."

She was shaking her head again. "I just have always put so much value in working hard for myself. My mother has really instilled that in me."

"And what, you can't work hard if you have money in your savings account?" he challenged.

"One of the worst fights I ever had with Logan was about rich people," Rory responded.

"And?"

"He made me acknowledge that even though I didn't grow up wealthy, I have had the same upper-class education, opportunities, and networks that he did."

"You _are_ a Gilmore," Tristan confirmed.

"And that seems to be the central drama of my entire life."

"Explain."

"My mom raised me to reject the Gilmore lifestyle. She re-branded us. But then I had big dreams for myself which were easier realized by depending on the monied Gilmores. I almost lost her when I fell in love with Logan. There were a lot of complex issues between us, but ultimately she just couldn't trust me in that world."

"So you are scared the money is going to ruin things with your mom again?"

She stirred her martini. He had hit the root of the issue before she had even admitted it to herself yet. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Have you told her yet?"

"No," Rory responded. "And I won't until I know what I want to do."

"There's no shame in accepting family money, Ror. That doesn't mean that you aren't going to go on and be successful on your own."

He was being earnest. She could see it in his eyes. "It would make things easier," she admitted.

He put his hand over hers on the bar. She didn't pull away. It felt nice, really. Warm and reassuring. He pulled his hand back just enough to lace his fingers through her own. She stroked his palm with her thumb, just once.

"Do you remember what I said to you last night?" he asked her.

Her mind flitted back to them yelling at each other, up against the bedroom door. _You want to fuck me as bad as I want to fuck you, and that terrifies you. Why?_

"I remember a lot of things you said last night." It was supposed to be playful, but it came out huskier than she had anticipated.

She watched as a smirk pulled at his lips. He turned his head for a second, shaking it off. When he turned back to her there was still a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "I stand by everything I said last night," he said at last, now stroking her palm with his thumb. "But I was referring to the part where I told you that you can't control what other people do. If your mom gets angry that you are accepting the money, then that is her own damn problem. She will come around. If she yells at your grandparents-"

"She will," Rory interrupted.

"Then I'm sure your grandparents have already accepted that and have taken that into consideration. Don't carry the guilt of that around. It's not worth it."

Rory chewed that advice over for a moment while she sipped her martini. Then all of a sudden she remembered:

"What are you doing in Hartford? You went home this morning."

Tristan broke his hand away from hers and rubbed his face. Rory pulled her hand back into her lap. "I don't exactly have a home in New York anymore."

Did that mean what she wanted it to mean? "Since when?" she asked simply.

"Since I made a phone call around one o'clock this afternoon."

"So where are you staying then?"

"At my parents' in Hartford."

Why didn't he just get a hotel? In the city, close to work? But she didn't ask.

"Are you going home tonight?" Tristan asked, surprising her.

"I, well, I was trying to figure out how I could avoid that right about the time you walked in," she responded honestly.

"Good."

"Good?"

"I want to take you back to my parents' house."

* * *

After paying both of their tabs, Tristan steered Rory to his Porsche. He insisted on driving her. He could drop her off at her car in the morning.

"Despite the way it looks, I'm not taking you back to my parents' house to seduce you," he said as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Well, I figured. Unless you only know how to pick up girls by offering a quick hook up on the couch in the rec room."

He laughed. "I figured you were much more of a finished basement kind of girl."

"Better than a parent's bedroom kind of girl," she added.

"Oh yeah, no, that creeps me out." He flipped the radio stations a bit. "Besides," he said at length. "I know you are a hotel suite kind of girl."

"Mmm hmm. Champagne, rose petals, all prerequisites for sex," she teased. "So it's a good thing you're not trying to seduce me." Her face lit up under the street lights that flickered by, and he could see she was blushing faintly. He loved that she was keeping up with the conversation, even if it made her a little uncomfortable.

He wasn't exactly sure what was making him drive her to his house. He knew that he didn't want her to leave his side, not yet. But there were a thousand places they could have gone. And all of a sudden here he was, bringing her to this place that was full of such mixed emotions. God, he must really be in deep.

It only took another minute to pull into his driveway. He pulled through the gates and up around the circular drive, parking his car directly in front of the main door. The house and the grounds were dark. He met Rory on the passenger side of the car and took her hand so he could guide her through the darkness.

"My parents are in China until Christmas," he explained as he slipped his key into the lock. It unlatched with a heavy click and he led Rory inside. He quickly punched in the alarm code and turned on the lights.

Rory look around, presumably taking in the house. Tristan looked around too, trying to imagine the house he had grown up in from a newcomer's eyes. It was large and ornately furnished, but it certainly wasn't the largest house in town. His parents had chosen years ago to spend much of their year abroad. Their Hartford house, therefore, was hardly worn in.

He hadn't let go of her hand. They walked quietly through the rooms, neither one saying anything as Rory took it all in. He figured his tour must have been strange-and certainly unexpected-but he found that he didn't have much to say about the rooms of the house. After completing a circle of the main floor they found themselves in the living room. Tristan turned on a few lamps as Rory moved to the mantel to examine the only photographs they had come across.

She picked one up and smiled. "How old are you in this picture?"

Tristan crossed the room to her side and took the frame in his hands. It was a picture of him standing at the bottom of the staircase. He was dressed in a tuxedo and grinning ear to ear. He was a little boy still, definitely in elementary school.

"Oh, I don't know, eight or nine? I was off to some kind of dancing school formal or something."

Rory opened her mouth to tease but Tristan cut her off. "Hey, you had a coming out ball. You don't get to judge."

"Touche." She moved down along the mantel, running her finger along the frames. She stopped on a faded photograph of a young woman.

"Is this your mother?" she asked. Tristan nodded. He was standing directly behind her. "She's beautiful," Rory responded genuinely.

"That she is," he said with a sigh. He slipped his arms around Rory's waist. "If she spent half as much time with her family as she did with her personal trainer, maybe we would be a very different family." Rory placed the frame back on the mantel and turned so that she was facing him. She reached up and ran her hand along the stubble of his jawbone. He closed his eyes, savoring her soft touch. He leaned his forehead against her own. "You said last night that you have daddy issues," he said gently. "They've got nothing on mine."

* * *

She was desperate to kiss him. She wanted nothing more than to comfort the little boy who seemed so broken in this home. The air between them was heavy and she almost closed the distance between them.

Until she slipped out of his arms. She took a deep breath of fresh air, calming herself. When she turned to him she was surprised to see that he looked rejected.

"You just broke up with Carly today," she said instead of apologizing. "You ended a relationship with someone who you have been together with for five years. I know you are hurt. I know you are lonely right now."

"I wasn't thinking about Carly."

"Maybe not right that second but-"

"I don't want to fight with you about her, Rory. We're done. I have been emotionally detached from that relationship for a long time."

"Tristan-I can't be your rebound."

"I'm not asking you to be."

Rory stared at him with a look on her face that she hoped conveyed her disbelief. Every fiber of his being told her he was trying to get a little rebound sex.

He must have interpreted her look correctly because he said: "I don't want to just have sex with you and cast you aside, Rory, don't you get it? It's not a coincidence that you came back into my life and then I started wanting more out of it. I have been sleepwalking through my relationship for months now. You made me want more. You made me want to try again with someone who challenges me every step of the way."

She felt his earnesty. She did. But just then she had a flash of Jess and Dean standing in her hallway at Yale, each one of them carrying baggage from their relationship, each one of them essentially asking her to choose.

Rory shook her head, but Tristan took a step closer. She reached out and put a hand on his chest. He stopped, but she didn't remove her hand. He covered it with his own.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It's just that I have gone straight from one relationship into another, and there was no closure with Dean and I. And in the end we all ended up broken hearted-"

"You were a kid, Rory," Tristan insisted. He moved the hand on his chest and folded it into his own. He pulled her a step closer and locked his eyes on hers. Rory wanted to blink, or look away. But she couldn't. "I can't help but believe that us meeting again and having this strong of a connection isn't some accident.

Rory opened her mouth to say something. Exactly, what she had no idea.

Tristan gave their entwined hands a little pull. "Can I show you something?"

* * *

This time he led her upstairs to his childhood bedroom. He felt oddly nervous when he flicked on the light and he saw her take in her surroundings. She didn't let go of his hand and explore the room the way she had downstairs.

He broke away and opened his closet door. He reached above he suits and shirts he had hung earlier this evening, up to the top shelf. He grabbed a shoe box and pulled it down. He turned back to where she was standing in the center of his room. Without saying a word he guided her over to the bed where they both sat on the edge. With his heart in her throat, he handed her the box. "I want you to open it," he said.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Gilmore Girls or any of the characters affiliated with the show.**

**Chapter 14: Passing Notes**

Rory held the box in her hands. The pit of her stomach clenched. What in the world could he possibly want her to see in this box? She delayed opening it for a moment, running her fingers over the dusty lid.

She looked over at him next to her. He was waiting for her. His eyes flickered briefly and she realized that he was nervous, too.

"This isn't, like, your pet hamster that died when you were six, is it?" she teased.

"No, no. Scruffy is in the shoebox under my bed."

He cracked a smirk and she smiled too. She opened the lid of the box and put it down gently on the other side of the bed.

She didn't know exactly what she had been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been this. The box was full of badges, photographs, and handwritten notes.

"Are these from military school?" she asked, holding a handful of silver pins in her hand.

"Yeah," he said simply. Then, "It's everything I have left. I don't...Rory…"

"What?" she asked softly.

He sighed and looked away, across the other side of the room. When he turned back to her he said, "I have never showed these things with anyone before. Not even the honors in there. But you knew me before. And...I guess I just need you to understand."

He looked so vulnerable, so genuinely earnest. In that moment she wanted to ease his mind, bring back the laughing, passionate boy that she had been falling for all of these weeks. She scooted closer to him and focused her attention back on the box. She felt his left arm wrap around her waist and she shrank into his embrace.

She flipped through the pictures first. They were mostly formal portraits or pictures of JROTC events and drills that other people had taken. There were a few clippings from what looked to be a school newspaper. Tristan briefly explained each object that she pulled from the box.

"You don't sound like you were unhappy there," Rory said at last, putting down an honor roll pin that she had been examining closely.

"At first I was miserable. The first few weeks I was just a little bitch. Yelling at the officers and accusing them of being jealous of the lifestyle that had gotten me to that place. I thought that all the girls I had hooked up with and all of the drugs I had tried at parties...all of the nights speeding around in my car half bombed...all of the money...I thought that was something that made me more of a man than them.

"Then the third week I began to realize that my father hadn't sent me there as a little joke to scare me. I was locked up there, and he wasn't letting me out. Everything was cold and dark there. We had 4 am physicals where we would just run in the dark in the frozen yard. The classes were dry, so much worse than any lecture that Chilton threw at us. We had daily bunk checks, and shoe shine checks, and mess hall checks. It was order. Nothing more nothing less."

"You made friends, though," she said, thinking about the faces she had just seen in the photographs.

Tristan shrugged. "Of course. It was a pretty revolving door, though. Most parents don't have the heart to keep their kids in there long."

"But yours did," she said.

"Yeah. At the time I thought they didn't want me to come home that year because they didn't know how to tell their friends where I had been. I was angry, and it followed me everywhere like a storm cloud. It was pretty fucking clear I hadn't been in Switzerland at boarding school."

"Typical," Rory said.

"I know now that they thought that if they let me out I would have ended up a statistic."

His voice was dark, and Rory suspected that he was thinking about what rabbit hole he could have gone down if he hadn't made the changes in his lifestyle that he had committed to.

"So they kept you there?"

"Through junior year. I kept myself there for senior year."

"Why?"

"I couldn't go back to those people. To Chilton. I know you get that."

"We all missed you," she said honestly. At the time, she wouldn't have been able to acknowledge that emotion. But she knew that he had flickered through her mind as she walked the halls of Chilton. And she knew that she would have been happy to see him again. Just as she was when he walked into the bar several months ago.

Tristan reached into the box for the first time. He rifled through the momentos until he pulled out a long envelope. He handed it to Rory.

She opened it gingerly. Inside were many sheets of paper. She unfolded them and her breath caught in her throat when she saw her own name on the first line.

She blinked up at him in surprise.

"They're not love letters or anything," he said quickly. "It's not like I wrote you all these letters I couldn't mail."

"So what are these, then?" she asked, thumbing through the pages.

"I kept some of the notes we passed in class. They must have fallen into my bag when I was cleaning out my locker. I didn't notice them in there until I was already in North Carolina."

"We never passed notes," she said, disbelievingly.

"See for yourself…"

Rory picked up the first note.

_Rory-I need the notes from Friday, I was out._

_Not my fault you ditched school._

"Riveting stuff," Rory said dryly.

He laughed. "Keep reading."

Rory flipped to the next page. It was a page from her notebook. Presumably from their Shakespeare class. Certain lines were highlighted in blue, not her own handiwork. She never used blue highlighters. She must have caved and given him the notes.

The third page was an oldschool "Will you go out with me, check yes or no." It was dated April 1st, 2002. "Aren't you clever," she said. "Asking me out as an April Fool's joke."

"You checked no and tossed it back to me quickly enough," he said.

"And if I had checked yes?" she asked.

He swallowed. "Then I don't think it would have been an April Fool's joke anymore."

She flipped to the next page. It was the first of a packet of stapled papers. She examined it closely. It was an essay she had written.

"Where did you get this?"

"I probably swiped it from your bag when you weren't looking," he said.

"Why?"

"I was interested in your subject matter."

"And it was?"

"The assignment was to pick a Shakespearean sonnet to which our angsty teenage hearts could relate."

"Hey! I remember that paper. That was a rather personal one to steal." She flipped to the introduction. "God, I'm almost afraid of what I wrote."

_Shakespeare is renowned for his ability to articulate the subtleties of love. He not only captured a universal emotion eloquently, but managed to do so in iambic pentameter. While we as high school juniors are only beginning to experience love and loss, Shakespeare's timeless words can still guide us through the journey. Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 resonates with me. He writes: "love is not love/ Which alters when it alteration finds/ Or bends with the remover to remove:/ O no; it is an ever-fixed mark," (Shakespeare, Sonnet 116). I find his words speak universally of the challenges that all couples face in relationships. These words remind couples that even in the twenty-first century, true love can endure through the challenges of growing up such as moving away, exploring independent career paths, and altering our ever changing perspectives of the world._

She looked up from the paper. "I sound so young in this," she said. She was blushing softly.

He took the paper away from her. "This essay gave me more hope than anything you had ever said to me."

"What do you mean?" she asked, reaching to take it back, as if she would find the answer in a different paragraph.

"You picked such a cliche sonnet."

"What? This has an A on it. It couldn't have been that trite."

Tristan shook his head. "You wrote everything our teacher wanted to hear," he explained. "And I think you meant every word of it at the time. You were with Dean then. Did you believe in those words?"

She thought about it for a moment. "At the time, yes."

"Your sonnet choice lacked any kind of passion. And I liked that. I had seen the way you guys acted together. I knew that you guys lacked that spark. And I wanted to show you what that felt like."

She broke eye contact with him, turning her head to the paper in her lap. Looking back on Dean, she knew that they lacked fire. She hadn't known that at the time, of course. That realization would come later, when she had Logan and desired him and his attention so desperately. Had Tristan really seen that all those years ago?

"And which sonnet did you choose," she challenged, not acknowledging his words. "Or did you even turn it in?"

"Sonnet 130," he answered, not even having to think about it. "_My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun/ Coral is far more red than her lips' red/...And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare/ As any she belied with false compare." _

"Tell me this is about Summer, or one of those girls," she said.

"Why would you want to hear that?"

"I don't know, Tristan. Maybe because you tried very hard to make my life miserable in high school. It's kind of hard for me to sit here listening to you quote sonnets at me about how I was blind to the beauty of our love."

He hadn't anticipated her reacting this way. "How did I make you miserable? Did I sabotage your grades? Ruin your friendships? Bully you in the cafeteria?"

"Well, no...not exactly. But you always manipulated situations just to get a rise out of me."

"Because you loved the banter. And you still do. You're picking a fight right now. It's the only way you have ever allowed yourself to connect to me."

She didn't respond to him. She looked like there were a thousand thoughts racing through her mind, so many that she couldn't pick which one to spit out at him.

"Read the last page," he said pointing at the stack of papers. She flipped to the back.

"It's just a page from the script we used for Romeo and Juliet," she said.

"Turn it over."

She began reading the handwritten words on the back. "It's a note to me," she said. "I don't remember this."

"It's because I never gave it to you."

"Why?"

"I chickened out when I came to you to say goodbye."

He watched as some of the angry tension left her body. She started to read the note but then handed it to him.

"Read it to me."

"I don't think I can," he said honestly.

"I need to hear it from you," she demanded.

He studied her for a moment, realized she wasn't backing down. And somehow his need for her to finally read the letter outweighed his own embarrassment of the contents. He cleared his throat and began to read.

"_Rory,_

"_Just know this: I'm sorry I'm disappointing you. The play was far from my mind when I broke into that safe. And if I am being truthful in this note then I guess I should confess that you weren't. I hate your boyfriend. I hate that you are so wrapped up in him that you don't even see that I want you too. He got to me the other night. And now I feel like I'm going insane thinking that I fucked it up. I'm sorry I fucked this up._

The note ended as abruptly as it began.

"Why are you sharing this with me?" she asked softly.

"I needed you to understand."

"What?"

"You keep trying to compare me to other boys you have dated. Stop. I'm not them. I'm not Dean or Logan or anyone else. I get that the timing here with Carly isn't ideal. And I get me leaving her for you scares you. But don't you get it yet? When I was getting kicked out of school, you were the only thing that I could think about. I know that I loved you then with the most that I was capable of. And I knew then it wasn't enough for you. That's why I didn't give you the letter. I have changed so much in these ten years. And through it all I have wondered if I would ever get a second chance with you. Now here we are. And I just want you to let me try to love you."

He was breathing heavily, waiting for her to say something. She took a long time, trying to find the courage to match his honesty. "I haven't been with anyone since Logan," she said, forcing herself to look him in the eye as she confessed something she kept deeply guarded in her heart. "You...all of this...it scares me."

A smile tugged at his lips. "Ohhhhh Mary," he said lightly. He brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You have no idea what you do to me."

She kissed him deeply then, letting the doubt go. In just a second's time he had slipped an arm around her and pulled her back onto the bed so that she was stretched out on it, him hovering just over her body.

He trailed kisses across her jaw, down to that spot on her neck he had discovered last night. Chills ran up and down Rory's spine. She dug her nails into his back, twisting at the fabric of his shirt. He returned his kiss to her lips and she moved to unbutton his shirt.

She worked at the bottom button as Tristan nibbled her lip softly. She was pulled slightly back to reality as she realized she couldn't get the damn thing to open.

"What kind of shirt is this?" she complained, tugging at the buttons. One in the middle popped off at the assault.

Tristan just laughed. "An overpriced one, apparently." He deftly unbuttoned it and discarded it by the side of the bed. Rory slid her hands under his undershirt, running her fingers along his abdomen and chest as she slowly pulled it off of him. She took a moment to appreciate his strong chest. But she quickly pulled his lips back to hers.

He groaned slightly. "My turn," he said, pulling away from her. He began to unbutton her prim sweater. Her stomach clenched with nerves. She took a shallow breath to steady herself. Through the nerves, she didn't doubt that she wanted this.

Tristan pulled her sweater off and discarded it in the growing pile of clothes beside the bed. He ran his fingers over her body, then her lips. Rory laid back as he planted kisses on her collarbone, then her breasts. She sat up and reached around to unclasp her bra. Tristan kissed her firmly as he slipped it off her shoulders. Rory wiggled out of her skirt. She rolled over so that she was straddling him.

"God Rory," he whispered. He ran his fingers along her smooth skin, cupping her curves with his strong hands. She started unbuckling his belt. She was ready for him to bare himself just as she had.

Her phone started vibrating in her purse where she had dropped it by the door. "Ignore it," she begged. Tristan willingly complied. He pulled her in for a deep kiss. She rocked her hips against his as she unbuttoned his pants. He groaned in appreciation.

But the phone didn't stop ringing. The third time it went off Tristan grumbled: "I think someone is looking for you."

Rory sighed and slipped out of bed. She crossed the room, suddenly much more aware of her nakedness. She answered the phone just as the fourth phone call began to sound.

"Where have you been?" Luke yelled

"Sorry, I wasn't near my phone. Is everything okay? Is Mom okay?"

"She's in labor. She's about to start pushing. We sent you about a thousand texts. Where are you?"

Rory pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it in horror. Luke was right. The messages had been coming in for hours now. "Oh God Luke, I'm so sorry. I haven't been looking at my phone. I'll be right there, okay?"

"Fine. Hurry up. She's in hysterics that you're not here."

'"Tell her I'll be there in ten minutes."

She hung up and turned back to Tristan, crossing her arms to cover her nakedness. "My mom's in labor, I've missed about a million texts. Can you drop me at my car so I can get to the hospital?"

Tristan was already off the bed and putting on his shirt. He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply. "I'll drive you there myself."

Distracted as she was, she couldn't help but appreciate the feeling of his strong hands on her bare back. She kissed him again. "I'm so sorry," she said.

He took a step back, looked her up and down, and smirked. "What for?" he asked. "I think this was a pretty damn good evening myself."

She smacked his arm playfully as she grabbed for her clothes.


End file.
